


Han.

by signifying_nothing



Category: EXO (Band), K-pop, VIXX
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe, Graphic Violence, M/M, Multi, Other, Torture, Violence, eonnie's famous crossovers, there's a love story in here somewhere i swear
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-07
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-04-19 16:05:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 13
Words: 34,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4752479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/signifying_nothing/pseuds/signifying_nothing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>pleased be aware: this fic will contain graphic depictions of violence, graphic depictions of non-consensual sex/rape, gender fuckery, heartbreak, and overall ruin. this is your warning.</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> pleased be aware: this fic will contain graphic depictions of violence, graphic depictions of non-consensual sex/rape, gender fuckery, heartbreak, and overall ruin. this is your warning.

In the low-walled castle at the mountain side of the capital city, the King watched his most favored General through a seeing-space. The pale mage holding it open between his delicate fingers was chained around the neck, ankles and wrists, and the King grinned as his left hand decimated the Foresten tribe with ease.

Soon, he thought to himself.

Soon.

~

The way to break a people was to break their leader. Minseok, as a lieutenant to the General of the largest legion on the continent, knew this as he coated his hand in a thin glove of ice and backhanded the tall man hung before him to his knees. The impact left a bright red spot, a few lines of blood on a sunshine-dark cheek. The cell was dark and damp, and the man in front of him looked like a polished round of topaz, with eyes like strong coffee.

It was hard not to find his resistance admirable: Minseok hadn't met one so stubborn in years. Most royals, at the threat of pain, were glad to give up the names of the mages, or their contact merchants, anything their torturer wanted to know. This one, though. He'd been dragged from his fallen treehouse kicking and screaming, biting, thrashing, generally making a grand nuisance of himself before Minseok had managed to slam him down to the ground and crack his head against the tree roots. There was still blood on his face, brick-red and dried down his forehead and cheek.

Minseok was impressed. The prince didn't cry out at the blow, didn't speak. He hadn't said anything so far. Not when Minseok gave him the names of the children and women they were holding prisoner, not when Minseok threatened to castrate him. He'd just licked the corner of his mouth and glared up at his captor, eyes full of hateful fire. It was good, very good. Minseok liked the ones with a bit of spirit. The ones who resisted. They made for good sport. There was nothing better than a fierce opponent brought low, ruined, beaten into eating from his hand with eyes demurely down and head bowed. He supposed he'd adapted that frame of mind from his General: sometimes the only way to truly remake a person was to shatter them, first.

“You're very obstinate,” he chided, shaking the rest of the ice from his fingers before coating his other hand. He used so much force in the next strike, with the back of his hand and knuckles, he threw the man to the stone floor. The chains holding him in place rattled in protest. His body strained, leaving all of his weight hanging from his bloody wrists. “Surely, you know you won't be able to keep this up.”

No response, again. Minseok heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Fine,” he said, shaking the ice off. “Have it your way.” He didn't have the time for this. He had more important business to take care of. Finding the mage took priority, no matter how it was done. So said the King, who had ordered the General to lead the attack on the Foresten tribe in the first place. “Jongdae.”

The man standing just outside the door to the cell looked up from the study of his fingernails, craned his neck to peer around the doorframe and blinked inquisitively. Minseok waved one hand in the prince's direction. The man was struggling up to his knees, then up to his feet. Such a strong, proud creature. Minseok felt another rush of admiration. “Take care of this for me.”

The man grinned, electricity crackling, sizzling through his smile, bright between his perfect teeth as he cracked his knuckles and nodded. “With pleasure.”

“Don't kill him like you did the last one,” Minseok reminded, scowling in remembrance of the last time he'd asked Jongdae to do something like this. He'd gotten carried away: the cell had smelled of burned flesh for weeks. “We need to know where the mage is.”

“Oh. He was a special case,” he said, a frown furrowing his brow. “I won't kill this one,” Jongdae promised. “I've better plans for him.”

“Very well. Do as you see fit.”

Minseok easily stepped out of the stone cell and closed the door, leaving Jongdae to his playtime with the fresh meat. Minseok had work to do, sending out scouts to see what they could see in the surrounding territories. He knew that the Eastland army was marching towards them, presumably with the hopes of freeing their allied tribe; they would be dispersed easily enough. They didn't have time for such nonsense. The mageling could be hiding under their noses, and it wouldn't do to be caught off guard by him, should he decide to attack. Minseok's brow furrowed in thought and agitation.

But he couldn't help smirking at the sound of a scream on his way up the stairs. Jongdae was like a child: always playing with his food.

~

The Eastmarsh was fetid and hot. Taekwoon leaned back into a large tree and looked up into what stars he could see through the canopy of jewel-green leaves. The hum of insects and twittering of birds had silenced hours ago and he wasn't sure if it was because it was night, or because they were so close to the salt flats that no creature dared venture too close.

“What's on your mind,” his companion asked, up in the tree, looking down at him.

“I'm worried about Hakyeon.”

“You worry too much,” the man in the tree replied. “He's not weak.”

“I didn't say he was,” Taekwoon replied, brow delicately furrowed. His heart still ached from their parting; it had been torture to leave his closest friend behind when things grew too dangerous for him to stay. Hakyeon had been a slice of sunshine in an otherwise dark place, and now he rather felt he was stumbling around blind. Jaehwan was an excellent companion, it was true, but he was not Taekwoon's friend. He was... Something else, entirely. Some wickedly godlike creature with a penchant for interfering. “I didn't say that he was.”

“If I were you I'd be more concerned with how we're going to get out of the marsh, and what we're going to do when we get to the salt flats.”

The salt flats. Taekwoon shuddered just thinking of that long stretch of white-tan nothingness, the smell of salt and bones. They went on for miles and miles and honestly, truly, he was afraid they wouldn't be able to cross them. True, Jaehwan was a... An inherently magical being, but there were things that even the most magical creatures couldn't do.

“Stop that,” Jaehwan said, hopping down from the tree. His antlers were unnaturally dark and sharp, like ebonywood. “Stop worrying about it. We'll figure it out when we get there, Taekwoon. There's no point in obsessing over it now.”

Taekwoon knew he was right. So he turned his mind to Hakyeon, too far out of his reach to touch, and hoped that, whatever had happened, he was safe.

~

“Gods, you're stubborn,” Jongdae complained, crouching in front of the prisoner, grabbing his chin in one strong hand. “Why? Do you owe the mageling some kind of loyalty? Are you so stupid as to trust a magic-user, especially one so powerful?” He grinned and let the electricity fizzle and hiss down his hand, touching his fingertip to one bruised eyelid. The man screamed, thrashed underneath the touch and Jongdae sighed. “Don't you ever _say_ anything,” he grumbled. “At this rate I'm going to get bored of you, and give you to Taemin and Jongin.” He leaned in close to the prisoner, spoke against the swell of his now-burned eyelid. “And if you don't like me. You definitely won't like them.” Jongdae closed his mouth around the socket of his prisoners eye and bit down, sucked at the eyelids and the eyeball beneath them. He was rewarded with a tremble of fear.

Jongdae sat back and looked thoughtfully about the room, getting up to pull the chains tighter, to force the man up onto his feet. His wrists were bloody from the cuffs. Walking closer, Jongdae smiled, leaning in to lick at the redness trickling down the man's forearms. “You taste like lightning,” he praised, grinning at the man staring down at him. This was taking too long.

“Come now, tell me something, anything. I'm getting bored of you. Any little thing will do. What's your name,” he asked, tickled his sparking fingers down bruised ribs, listening to the hiss of pain, feeling the way the handsome body twisted and attempted to strain away. “Tell me your name, little prince.”

“No,” he breathed, and Jongdae sighed in agitation. He gripped the stubborn man's hips and forced the lightning into him, listened to him choke on air, felt his legs jerk and his arms tighten before going limp. He held the body against himself, arms wrapped around the thin waist. The prince hadn't been eating well, it seemed. Strange, as the majority of his people were strong and healthy.

“Just tell me,” he cooed, swaying the man with tenderness, one hand rubbing up and down the spasming muscles of his back. “Tell me what I want to know, little prince, and I won't hurt you again. You're such a pretty prince, I don't want to hurt you. I don't want to give you to the ones who really will ruin you.” It wasn't a lie. He would rather not turn anyone over to that demonic monster and his companion, but no amount of threatening, it seemed, was going to do him any good.

The man wept without sound, chest jumping up and down. His eyes were red and swollen with burns and his tears must have stung his cheeks, but he said nothing. And Jongdae grew suspicious. “Have it your way, fool.” He moved away, let the man slump in his restraints. Jongdae forced the man's mouth open, three fingers in each side, pulling apart as he allowed his power to flow between the teeth, around the tongue. The man would have screamed, if his throat hadn't been so burned. Jongdae struggled to find his usual joy in this task: it usually didn't last this long. They broke after much less pressure, after a few threats and shocks to make sure the threats could be taken as promises. He'd never gone this far, never.

“You don't strike me as a prince,” he said, his tone accusing. “No royalty is so obstinate as you. No royalty would take such torture without a cry or a confession. No, I don't think you're the prince at all, are you,” he asked. He yanked the man's head back by his hair and searched his face; his browned, laborer's face, his darker shoulders, and looking down he saw his dark feet. Walking in the sunlight, fishing, hunting in the bright hours of the day for all his life.

“You aren't,” he said, a smirk creeping across his face to hide what little relief he felt. The tension in the man's body confirmed his suspicion. “Very well then. I will find your prince. And when I do, I will rend your flesh off your bones for his eyes. Your loyalty has sealed your doom.” The man jerked and fought Jongdae's grip. Jongdae let go, immensely pleased with himself for his discovery.

“Poor little hunter,” he cooed, walking towards the door. “Perhaps I'll spare you from Taemin and Jongin after all, you've been so very helpful.”

“No,” the man panted, hanging in the chains, new blood trickling down from the wound on his head. “No, please--”

“Oh,” Jongdae paused, his grin a devil's grin, wicked in intent now that he knew the truth. “So you have affection for your prince. Are you his manservant? Do you warm his bed? Then your loyalty is even further misplaced. No prince keeps a man for love, whore.”

As he closed the door to the cell, Jongdae took little pleasure in the man's sobbing. His heart had not been pleasant to break and he felt pity. He'd managed to enjoy himself, even moving through his own unusual cruelty, until those words and those tears. Foolish man. Foolish boy. Jongdae stalked up to the ground level of the compound, his expression sour.

No prince kept a man for love.

~

Taekwoon's dreams were heavy with rain. He woke cold, despite the heat of the marsh, and took little comfort in Jaehwan's presence as the creature sat in meditation as he so often did, while Taekwoon slept. Jaehwan's features were soft when he was meditating. His sharp eyes and furrowed brow relaxed into something that Taekwoon might have called beautiful if not for the distinct unnaturalness that hovered around Jaehwan like a second skin of mist. He looked human, save for that rack of antlers, but he did not feel human. He did not feel like a person, he lacked warmth or a soft heart.

Taekwoon had been terrified of him. Hakyeon had stepped between them at their first meeting, fans raised, his dark hair wet with sweat, teeth bared. And Jaehwan had slapped him aside like a wayward child. The only thing that stopped him was Taekwoon's shrill shout of alarm.

Jaehwan couldn't understand why it was Taekwoon was worried about Hakyeon. _He's just a human,_ he'd said.

_He's my friend,_ Taekwoon had snapped, cradling his companion, checking for injuries as Hakyeon laid there, dazed in his arms.

_He's my friend,_ Taekwoon thought forlornly, wishing not for the first time that Hakyeon had been able to come with them. He was a social creature and a happy one; bright and sunny, strong and resourceful. But Jaehwan had refused it and Hakyeon... Well. He'd understood, but Taekwoon knew it had hurt him. Hakyeon had never been very good at seeing logical reason, especially when the result was him being left behind by someone he cared for.

_I'll come back,_ Taekwoon promised. Hakyeon didn't believe him. But he kissed his forearms just the same, smiled at him with all the sunshine he could muster. _I'll come back, Hakyeon. I promise._

_Don't make promises you can't keep,_ Hakyeon had whispered, and Taekwoon still wondered what would have happened, if he'd been able to say it then – that he loved Hakyeon dearly, that he didn't want to leave him, that he wanted him to be safe and the safest place for him was far away from Taekwoon, who had too much power and not enough ability to hide it.

“What are you thinking about,” Jaehwan asked, opening his eyes.

“Hakyeon,” he replied honestly, looking down at the ground.

“Don't torture yourself,” he warned.

“I abandoned him."

“He chose to stay.”

“Because you told him to. That's not choosing.”

Jaehwan's brow furrowed, his mouth twisting into a scowl. “There are a lot of things, he won't be able to choose,” he said, his voice low.

“What is that supposed to mean,” Taekwoon asked, sitting up, staring at his companion.

Jaehwan said nothing, and Taekwoon glanced back into the trees as though he might see Hakyeon standing there, muddy and laughing, holding up a dead rabbit or two and announcing dinner.

But there was nothing there.

Hakyeon was not there.

~

“That would explain his refusal to talk,” Minseok nodded in response to Jongdae's statement that the man in the cell was no prince at all, merely a manservant. “I thought he was more stubborn than most. But this means the prince is among the captured; how will we find him?”

“Don't concern yourself,” Kyungsoo said, voice lazy as his fingers traced through his favored whore's hair. Jongdae was almost disgusted by the man's presence; he was small and weak, sat at Kyungsoo's knees like a loyal dog, begging for affection. It went against his taste and standard, and perhaps it reminded him of himself years before. But Kyungsoo was still speaking and he forced his vision away from the whore back to his commander.

“The mage is still priority. Tell them the prince is dead. Tell them... Mmm, tell them we'll hang his body for the crows unless someone comes forward. They have burial rites and traditions. Nothing worse than the dishonor of the dead.” Kyungsoo hummed thoughtfully, tugging on his whore's hair. “Isn't that right, pet.” The man didn't move, eyes on the floor, heavy with memory.

“And what to do with the manservant in the meantime,” Jongdae asked, fighting not to shudder in remembrance of what had occurred when Kyungsoo had... Acquired the prize at his feet. Kyungsoo grinned, one corner of his mouth lifting.

“Give him to Taemin and Jongin. And make sure Yixing is there to keep an eye on them. I don't want the man dead yet. He may still have his uses.”

~

When the word of the Legion marching towards them reached his ear, his immediate concern had been his people. They were not fighters, and he did his best to encourage them to stand firm in the face of the death that would surely confront them. He stalked across the floor of his treehouse, tearing at his hair. Waiting for the Legion was worse than being attacked by them. Being helpless in the face of such power was...

“You should go with the people,” said his manservant. He glared over at the man, who bowed his head.

“That's cowardly.”

“They will come for you first,” he reasoned. “If you are free, the people will look to you, protect you. You are their King.”

“I will not risk them slaughtering every man until they find me--”

“I will take your place.”

He stared at the man. On one knee, he seemed almost regal, his dark hair hiding his eyes, his expression soft. Had he always been so beautiful? Had he always made his King's heart twist with guilt? “What.”

“I will take your place. I can't--” His voice tightened. “I will not bear witness to harm coming to you. I will not.”

“You're being foolish--”

“Please,” the man said, standing. Had he always possessed such a firm bearing? Had he always been so strong, so willing to give up his life? The Prince couldn't remember. His memories of the man were of his body twisted in beautiful submission, in soft pink-brown lips and a body that welcomed him, no matter the time or the reason. There was nothing much to what they were except for that.

“...Very well,” he said, his jaw tense. “Fine.”

“I will not betray you,” the manservant said, his eyes hard, his jaw clenching. “I will not let any harm come to you. Not while I live.”

When the Legion came, with fire and blades, it was the manservant who rallied them. It was him, yanked from the burning fell of the tree and it was his body slung over the body of a horse, back exposed to the sun.

It was the King who walked quietly among the shackled, for the day and a half it took them to march the captives into the compound: where the manservant was dragged underground, and the King left out under the sun and open sky.

~

 

 


	2. (two)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter contains graphic depictions of rape and violence.

Yixing was sent in first, to heal the prisoner of his wounds. The infections of his burns and rent wrists were red, smelly and pussing, but Yixing wiped the damage clean. With a hum he touched the wounds, leaving behind only warm brown skin, tender and soft. The captive had been down there for three days: it was a miracle the wounds weren't worse. He clearly had a hearty constitution. “You're very beautiful,” Yixing commented. The man wouldn't look at him, and Yixing hadn't expected him to. “I understand why a King would want to keep you. You're a fine specimen of a man.”

He eased the man down from his chains and laid him on a table. The coolness of the stone caused a shiver and distantly, Yixing found that beautiful too. It was unfortunate, that the agony of others was a necessity for the ongoing prosper of the Legion; but for what few were lost, many survived and lived better lives for the protection and strength the Legion forces offered against far more savage enemies: enemies Yixing knew intimately, and wished to never know again. Still. He hated this part of it.

“There, there, shh,” Yixing cooed, buckling the leather straps around soft wrists. He carefully wiggled a bit between white teeth. It forced the man's mouth open, top and bottom teeth separated by a measure of leather and metal. He had healed his throat completely; Taemin would have enjoyed the pain it caused but Yixing didn't want to give him the pleasure. Perhaps the man would submit and his submission would end the torture sooner. “Jongdae tells me you are foolish and headstrong,” he bent to kiss the man's sweaty forehead, one hand smoothing back wet, greasy hair. “But all the stubbornness in the world won't help you now. Try your best to be not so full of pride.”

“Are you finished yet,” Taemin asked, leaning into the doorway with crossed arms and a wicked grin. “Stop babying him and let me get to work.”

“You're impatient,” Yixing said, standing up straight. “But yes, I am finished. I'll be outside.” He didn't flinch when Jongin appeared behind him, hugged his waist and bit his shoulder.

“I'll come see you later,” he assured, while Yixing rolled his eyes and headed out to wait for his call. Jongin stared after him with thoughtfulness in his gaze, before turning to look at the man on the table. Dark-skinned and slim, hands restrained. “What have we here,” he wondered, clicking his tongue as Taemin wrapped his arms around the prisoner's hips and yanked him to the end of the table, straining his arms. “Be gentle,” he chided.

“I am,” Taemin countered, pushing the man's thighs open, smirking at the weakness of his protest. “Seems Jongdae's had his fun. I like them pliant. And he's a whore, or so I'm told,” he grinned. Jongin looked back at him. “So perhaps he'll enjoy it anyway.”

“They always do, by the end,” Jongin echoed a phrase he'd heard before. His hand smoothed over the filthy hair, traced the mouth forced open by the bit. He wondered what the man's mouth looked like when it was closed. His lips were the color of dusty tea roses. “Look at him, so pretty. So loyal. Jongdae said he wouldn't even give his name.”

“Whores don't have names,” Taemin replied. One of his hands slapped the inside of the captive's left thigh with bruising force. The man just groaned, trying to twist away and unable to do so. “Someone's mounted you lately,” he said, looking over the bruises on sharp hips, less than a week old, fading slowly. “Just before we burned your forest to the ground, looks like.”

“Poor thing,” Jongin said, touching the long neck, the narrow shoulders, the sensitive skin under the arm. With his arms yanked into straightness and Taemin holding his legs open, the prisoner was absolutely prone. “Torn from the arms of your lover by fire. Shall we take his place?” He smiled at the rasped intake of breath. Perhaps this would be easier than he'd thought. Jongin liked it, when this was easier than anticipated.

“No shall about it,” Taemin said, already taking off his clothes, already hard. The sight of the man, pinned and chained and helpless, was enough to incense his lust, Jongin knew this. But Taemin wouldn't hurt the poor thing, oh no-- At least, not at first. There were better ways to break a man. “I'm going to please you so well you'll forget your dear prince, and scream my name instead.”

The prisoner tried to tug at his arms, gasping hard, squirming his hips in an attempt to get away. Taemin chuckled. “Do what you want,” he said, one hand wrapped around his own cock, stroking lazily as he walked to the shelf at the side of the cell and pulled two sticks of aloe from a large plant, offering one to Jongin. “Wet his throat. I want him capable of speaking when you're done with him.”

“Taemin,” he whined. “Do you have no faith in me at all,” Jongin pouted, pulling off his own clothes. He climbed up onto the table and straddled the man's chest, snapping the aloe in half and rubbing the wet flesh of the plant over his fingers. He eased two digits down the mans throat, rubbed the aloe at what he could reach and cooed when the torso he was seated on heaved and jerked. “Shh, stop that,” he said, listening to the man choke and gag, gasp for breath. “You want your throat to be wet, don't you? It will hurt more, if it's not.” His fingers traced the last of the slickness over those dry, pink lips before he got up onto his knees to give the prisoner a good eyeful of his erection. The fear in his eyes made Jongin's cock twitch. And the way he wrenched his head to one side, eyes squeezed closed, made it even better. Perhaps he'd been spending too much time with Taemin, after all. Jongin had always enjoyed the play of a lover not wanting what he gave them. As long as he pretended this was play, it wouldn't bother him nearly so much.

“What are you doing back there,” he asked, turning to look at Taemin, who was smirking down at the man's groin.

“He's tight,” Taemin said. His middle finger was buried up to the knuckles, and the man's hips were jerking, twitching, desperately trying to move away. “Hold his legs for me, won't you. They're in the way.”

“Lazy,” Jongin accused. He finished rubbing the aloe over his cock, sighing in absent pleasure. Only then did he reached his arms back and hooked his elbows under the prisoner's knees, yanked them forward until the man beneath him was curled nearly in half. Jongin's tip was inside the bit holding the man's mouth open, and he rolled his hips forward, pleased by the breathless little choke as his crown rubbed the roof of the prisoner's mouth. “Don't you do this for your prince?” he asked, repeating the motion. “Don't you wrap your mouth around his length and suck till he rewards you?” Jongin was intimately acquainted with such things. He made the attempt to be careful as he rocked his hips.

The man's throat opened in a gasp of surprise and Jongin pushed his hips down and forward, burying himself in hot wetness. The man choked. Jongin didn't move, just moaned and curled his captive up a little further. He twisted to catch both legs with one arm, his free hand moving down. He was careful to cup the back of the prisoner's head, fingers rubbing across his scalp in a motion that should have been comforting.

“Now who's impatient,” Taemin asked, with two fingers inside of the prisoner, moving them slowly in and out, in and out. He knew from experience that this was his favorite way to ruin a man: not to harm but to please them, to make them feel such intense pleasure they surrendered willingly. It was always better for them to give in without a fight. Though that didn't mean Taemin didn't enjoy the fight. On the contrary, he usually preferred it, but here, where he was operating within parameters, he couldn't be as brutal as he wanted. “Don't choke him. Kyungsoo wants him alive.”

“I won't,” Jongin panted, looking down at the clenched hands, the locked, quivering elbows. The man was crying from the strain, heaving breath through his nose. “A dick in the throat won't kill him.” Jongin wouldn't kill him. It was part of why he wasn't thrusting: just pushed inside. He didn't want to hurt him any more than he had to. That was part of the job of being an inquisitor, caring enough about your prisoner to make sure that you could glean all information from them before they were rendered useless to you. Taemin, on the other hand. That was a different story.

Taemin rolled his eyes and squeezed a bit more aloe onto his fingers, pushing them back inside the tight warmth. He could feel the muscles loosening, almost out of instinct or habit. “You must have been a good whore,” he said absently. “You're opening so well.” As he said this he pushed a third finger inside, this one from his other hand. He could hear the man whimpering, could feel his hips jerking and straining. “Oh stop that,” he chided. “Just let yourself enjoy it, pet. Doesn't feel good, when I do this?” He pushed his three fingers inside, twisted them, crooked them up. He was rewarded with the man jerking his hips in a way that had nothing to do with pain or an attempt to get away. He leaned forward to press a kiss to the skin beneath the man's ballsac.

“We're going to cut these off, you know,” he said, watching the way the muscles in Jongin's ass flexed as he began to fuck the man's throat in slow, measured strokes. He was too gentle for Taemin's taste. Always too soft. “We are going to castrate you. I suppose I should pleasure you while you can still be pleasured with them.” The man choked, strained and attempted to thrash, even though his legs were being held open.

As Taemin pushed in his fourth finger, he leaned his head forward to suck one testicle into his mouth, tonguing at the soft, sensitive skin. He saw the man's cock twitch, saw his length smearing precum on his curved belly. With a chuckle of approval, he pushed his fingers in and out. “Get out of there,” he told Jongin.

“Why,” he hummed in response. But he pulled himself out, tutting at the coughing choke, the thick saliva coating his cock. “Careful, mm? Breathe, yes, that's it.” He rubbed his fingers up and down the aching throat, rubbed a bit of aloe over the sore lips one more time.

“Because I want you to fuck his ass, that's why,” Taemin said. Jongin eased off the table and the man tied to it started to thrash with renewed vigor, trying to cry out, to struggle. Taemin sighed. “Would you stop that,” he said, turning his hands to his fingers were back to back and pulling the man open, listening to him gasp and cry. “Look at how open you are, how hard. You're clearly enjoying this-- just let yourself enjoy it, mm? It feels good, doesn't it?” he bent his head to lick the stretched skin, to push his tongue in between his fingers. The man groaned, attempted to clench. “Let Jongin fuck you. He'll please your ass so well.”

“Yes,” Jongin said, while one hand slicked his cock with aloe. It wouldn't do to hurt the man. “I will.”

Taemin smirked, easing his fingers out and chuckling as the clench gaped open, then closed. “Be gentle with him,” he said, echoing Jongin's earlier words.

“I will,” he promised, moving to stand between long legs, pushing them open and holding them there while Taemin gripped his cock to guide him, pushing his hips to Jongin's hips to push him forward, slowly, so slowly.

The man gasped and shouted, thrashing his head back and forth, jerking his strained torso. He sobbed when Jongin bottomed out and twitched his hips forward in a tiny thrust. “Look at how pretty you are,” Jongin murmured, letting go of the elegant legs. They hung at either side of his hips, limp. Jongin's tan hands smoothed the insides of them, rubbed the tension out of the trembling belly and hips. He was so hot, so tight. He clenched up and struggled and it made Jongin's eyes roll back for a moment. “Look how hard you are for me,” he said as hand reached to hold the prisoner's cock, jerk lightly. The thighs tensed, and the prisoner's head tipped back. “Isn't it good, to let someone else please you?” His voice was almost tender, his touch attentive.

The captive groaned, and it ended in a sob. His face was wet with sweat and tears. Taemin looked on in approval, pushing Jongin's hips forward and pulling back slowly. “Look at his pretty cock,” he sighed, moving around to take it in his own hand, leaving Jongin to grip the prisoner's hips and move him back and forth on his length in calculated movements, aided by another squeeze of aloe. Taemin bent to lick the wet tip of the captive's dick, relishing the whine, the jerk of the hips.

“If you promise to be good,” he said, moving to kiss his way up the heaving torso, pausing to lick a nipple, to suck with obscene tenderness. “If you promise to be good, I'll take this out of your mouth. But if you do anything untoward,” he warned. “I'll castrate you right here, right now, while Jongin fucks you.”

Pleased with the frightened whimper he received in reply, Taemin kissed at the long, soft neck as he unbuckled the bit and pulled it out of that lovely mouth. With stretched, chapped lips the man managed a _please stop_ , his voice lovely and grating. It must have hurt to speak, and Taemin licked those dry lips, cooing in reassurance. “Shh,” he said. “Shh. It's all right. Let us please you, mm? Doesn't he fuck you so well, so deep and slow,” he kissed the corner of the raw mouth. “Doesn't it feel good when I touch you like this.” His hand wrapped around the captive's erection and stroked, slowly and gently.

“Please,” he whimpered, struggling weakly. “Please don't, please.”

“Why not,” Taemin asked, bending to lick the tip, to spit where Jongin was pulling out, pushing in, cheeks blushed. Too gentle. Always too gentle. “You're enjoying it. Can you feel your ass sucking him in? You want this so badly you're letting us do it, letting us please you until you're weak and soft for us...”

“No,” he whimpered. Taemin sighed and climbed up onto the table, knees on either side of the man's strained shoulders.

“Suck me,” he murmured, kissing his way down the beautiful torso, sucking at small nipples and teething each curve of his musculature until he was at his cock. “Suck me, pretty whore, and mind your teeth.” He reached down to guide his cock against the closed lips, forced them open and pushed inside. The man choked, but didn't bite. The clench of his throat was tight, and Taemin groaned in approval, smiling at Jongin, who smiled back, small and almost shy.

“His ass feels good,” he panted, pushing in and out with a little more force, a little more aloe to smooth the stroke. “So hot, so soft... Nnn, I love it when they open for us.” The man beneath them choked, and Taemin pushed down a little more, feeling heavy breath against his ballsac.

He bent to suckle the man's tip, tonguing at the sensitive vein and moving his head down to mouth at the shaft. Jongin's hand held the base, pumping in slow curls of his wrist, and Taemin's fingers cupped the sac. “Nnn, he's tight-- fuck, he's close, I can feel it.” Taemin eased up, spoke against the man's cock.

“Are you going to cum for us, pretty whore, are you going to cum with Jongin in your ass, my cock down your throat, you're such a good whore for us, such a pretty little pet.”

With one last lick the man choked and his hips kicked up. Jongin hissed and Taemin tilted his head up to let the cum spit out onto his throat, rolling the tender sac in his hand until there was nothing left for the captive to give and his body started to go limp. Only then did he pull himself free from the prisoner's throat, listening to him gag and heave as he turned and offered his neck to that ruined mouth. “Clean up the mess you made, little whore,” he murmured, cupping the man's head and forcing it up. He knew how to use his words; he could nearly hear the man's resolution starting to crack. “Yes, good, just like that,” he praised as a little tongue licked at his throat, congested whimpers and choked sobs vibrating against his neck. “There's a good whore, pretty whore. Thank you.” Taemin eased away, smiling down at the man's teary face, his cum-slicked mouth. “Did you make Jongin cum?” he asked, thumb running over those messy lips. “Did you milk Jongin dry with your hungry ass?”

Jongin chuckled quietly from where he was still pumping his hips forward. “Yes,” Taemin confirmed, smirking at the slick of white on every pull and push. “Yes, your greedy little hole took it all, didn't it. It felt so good for him, for you-- such a good slut.” The man whimpered, head dropping to one side. Taemin bent to kiss his tears.

“Oh shh, shh. You're a good boy, a good whore. You made Jongin cum inside you,” he smiled, biting the apple of one cheek. “Can you make me cum, too?”

Jongin pulled out of the prisoner without much fuss. His hole gaped open and Jongin held him like that, rubbed attentive fingers against the raw skin, checking for tears. There were none; just pink, stretched skin as Taemin moved to take his place. “Mmm,” the older man sighed, pushing in easily. “Mmm, you're wet,” he said, holding the man's hips tenderly as he thrust. “Jongin's cum wet you up for me, mm? Such a good little whore, taking his load like that... Mmm...” Taemin rocked his hips back and forth, pulled nearly all the way out before pushing back in, Jongin's cum white and wet on his dick. “Yes, your ass is so good, whore,” he whispered, fucking Jongin's cum in and out. It was erotic and vulgar, obscene as he watched his apprentice's cum wet his way into his plaything. “So good for me, so open, so soft... Feels like a cunt, you're so wet.”

The man beneath him moaned gently, eyes closed. “Say my name, whore,” Taemin said. “Say my name when I please you so well, call me Taemin.”

“T...” he started, blushing furiously, hands clenching and unclenching. His shoulders strained, and Jongin reached to rub at them, to ease the tension. Taemin glared up at him and he raised his hands in surrender, backing away. His attention turned back to the man pinned under him.

“Yes,” Taemin said, pushing in deep and holding still. “You're close, pet. Say my name.”

“Taemin,” he whispered, and Taemin rolled his hips in one circle before he started to thrust.

“Tell me how it feels, whore,” he said, one hand cupped over his prisoner's groin while Jongin watched from where he was perched nearby. Taemin had such a way with words. “Tell me how good it feels to have my dick inside you, filling you up.”

“It... Ah...”

“Tell me, pet,” Taemin urged, moving his hips harder, slower.

“Feels good,” came the whimper. Taemin smiled. “Feels good in me.”

“That's right, pet, it feels good to let me fuck your ass,” he said, pulling all the way out, rubbing his tip over the forcibly loosened clench. “Tell me you want me inside. You want me to finish you like this, with my cock inside your hungry ass.”

“I, I want...” Taemin pushed his tip inside as encouragement, over and over. The man gasped. “I want-- I want it inside, I--” Taemin pushed a little further. He was rewarded with a groan, with the man's body going boneless beneath him. “Cum in me,” he whispered, hips jerking up and down. “Finish me like this, please, it-- it feels good.”

“Tell me your prince's name, little whore,” Taemin cooed. “Tell me and I'll finish you, I'll fuck you so well, tell me his name and I'll reward you.”

“No,” he whimpered, shaking his head.

“Tell me,” he pushed his hips in. “Tell me, whore.”

“No,” he repeated, and Taemin sighed.

“Have it your way, then,” he said, bringing one hand down to slap the man's groin viciously. He enjoyed the way he clenched, the way he shouted in pain. How quickly pleasure could be turned on it's head and destroyed. “Tell me his name.”

“No,” it was a sob, and Taemin clawed his hand around the man's cock and ballsac. He pulled away from the body and the man screamed.

“Bring me the knife,” Taemin said. “I'm going to make a woman out of him and his wet cunt.” Jongin offered him the knife-- a rust-dusted, sharp thing, discolored with blood. “This is your last chance, pet,” he murmured. “Tell me his name and I swear I won't kill him. Tell me his name, and I'll never tell him that you came with Jongin's cock inside you, with your throat around my dick.”

The man whimpered, trying to wiggle away. Taemin pulled his balls tight, and he pressed the knife to his skin, cut into him with torturous slowness until the man shrieked out in a sob, bleeding in short spits down between his legs.

“Wonsik,” he wept, chest jumping. “Wonsik, his name is Wonsik please don't hurt him please, please don't hurt him don't hurt him gods please--”

“Oh, good pet,” Taemin hummed, handing the knife back to Jongin, bending himself over the manservant's prone body, licking at his tears as he thrust himself towards orgasm. The blood on his belly made his cock twitch. “I won't hurt him, pretty whore, I won't hurt him. I swear it. I swear, slut, I will not hurt your prince.” Taemin sat up and snapped his hips forward, grinning as he emptied himself and watched the man under him cry.

“I've better plans for your master.”

He climbed from the stone, and grabbed for the rag Jongin was holding to wipe the mess from his belly and groin. He dropped the cloth to the captive's face and walked out. He didn't think to ask where the mageling could be found. It was unlikely a manservant would know.

~

Taemin stalked out of the cell, leaving Jongin to look at the man on the table. He was the same color as Jongin. Tall, lean. His eyes were squeezed shut but he was still crying, and Jongin reached to wipe away the signs of his pain with his fingers.

The man jerked away from him with a hysterical sound, curling in on himself, facing the wall. His arms were still painfully strained. The rag stuck to the skin of his cheek, and blood stuck his thighs together, still pumping out with his heartbeat, deep red.

Jongin stared at him a moment longer. Too long. His eyes were glassy with other thoughts, his eyes on the bruises on the prisoner's back, before leaving the cell. Yixing was waiting outside, with clean rags, and Jongin frowned.

“I don't know why you're bothering,” he said, barely hearing himself, feeling numb. “Taemin will be back. Better to just leave him like that.”

“Everyone deserves a quiet moment for comfort, Jongin,” Yixing replied, slapping away Jongin's hand, reaching for his shoulder through his loose white shirt. “Go on, go. You're not needed for this.” Jongin stared at Yixing, but snapped out of the prison, off to somewhere else. Yixing nodded. Good riddance. Jongin wasn't as bad as Taemin, but he still... Associated with Taemin. That was enough to make Yixing uncomfortable in his presence.

He stepped into the cell and took in the sight. He'd just healed the man, but Taemin-- well. Taemin was rougher than he should have been, and Yixing carefully set down his tools to pull the man up the table, reducing the pull on his arms. He peeled the filthy rag from the paled face and threw it to the floor. Disgusting. One hand cradled the man's head while the other wiped his cheek clean. The warm, wet rag cleaned away snot and tears and saliva and the last traces of Taemin's cum.

“All right, all right,” Yixing said softly, easing the prisoner's head down. His presence was enough to calm the hammering heart under his fingers, to slow the pulse and help the fear ebb away. “Shh. Let me take care of you, mm? Part your legs for me-- no, no I won't hurt you, shh. It's all right, shh...” Yixing took in the savage rip in the skin and let his hand pass over it. It scarred neatly. The pain would bother the prisoner for a few days, at least. Yixing knew from experience that the ache would take time to fade, and that was assuming Kyungsoo didn't demand he be cut, permanently.

“Will they hurt him,” the man asked, his voice weak and ragged, pulling Yixing from his thoughts. The captive's eyes, bruised and beautiful, peered up at Yixing, desperation in his expression.

Yixing couldn't help but feel his heart break, that the man was more concerned for his master, than himself. Such loyalty. So much pain endured. “No,” he whispered, unsure if he was lying. “No, they won't hurt him. You did well. You protected him.”

The man smiled, just a little. He nodded, squeezing his eyes closed before he slipped into the sleep of the unconscious. Yixing sighed, passing his hand over the beaten face, the bruised neck and thighs. He unbuckled the shackles and draped a light blanket over the man's nude body. He lifted him from the stone to the wood of the bed, putting a small bundle of cloth under his head. With a purse of his lips, Yixing smoothed back dark, soft hair before making his way out of the cell.

He knew it was best for the Legion, but sometimes he wished it wasn't so terrible for the men he was sometimes forced to lead peacefully into the sleep of the dead.

~

Yixing had thrown himself over Yifan's body, when the village started to burn.

Tied out with the dogs and horses, whipped like pigs he and Yifan were doomed to be separated, beaten bloody before the arrows fell. They were trapped with the rest of the livestock when the Legion burned the world down around them.

And then simply, suddenly, they were not there anymore, but outside the village, panting in fear, tossed to the ground.

Kyungsoo was flanked by two men; both tall, one darker, one pale but they were inconsequential, Yixing did not see them. All he saw was that Kyungsoo had eyes like the devil himself but Yixing made the deal: _take me, take him, my loyalty is yours._

~


	3. (three)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there are no explicit warnings for this chapter.

“He gave me the name of the Foresten King, but not the Mage. He probably doesn't know.”

“Very well,” the King said, nodding to Taemin's image through the seeing-space. “Continue on as planned. Keep an eye on the General's whore; I've suspicions about him. He gathers them unconsciously, whether he knows it or not.”

“Should I play with him?”

“Don't do anything to around suspicion, Taemin. If it's convenient to do so, play as you will. In the meantime, don't expose yourself.”

“As you wish.”

The seeing-space closed and Taemin growled under his breath. They were so close. They had most of them in their possession. Sehoon, Yixing, Jongdae, Jongin, Joonmyeon, Chanyeol, Minseok. They were only missing the Earth and the Light. And Taemin had suspicions about Kyungsoo himself, his quiet foreign advisor. But he couldn't act on that just yet. Soon.

Very soon.

He left the secreted alcove and continued to the war room.

~

Taemin's victorious smirk made Jongdae grind his teeth. He hated the look of Taemin fresh from a fucking and so godsdamned pleased with himself. And Taemin always made sure to grin at Jongdae, _I succeeded where you failed_ and Jongdae stiffened. Taemin was below him in rank, but he took every chance he got to be smug about his own successes.

“The prince's name is Wonsik,” he said, bowing respectfully to Kyungsoo, who looked like the devil as he sat in his chair, one hand wrapped around the ball of his favored cane. It wasn't necessary for him to walk, but Jongdae had seen him use it on obstinate soldiers, the ones who disobeyed.

“Bring him to me.”

“As you wish.”

Jongdae watched Taemin stalk out of the hall, Jongin trailing behind like a nervous dog. He felt Kyungsoo looking at him, considering. Weighing his worth in usefulness and he must have found him satisfactory, because his eyes turned to his whore, resting against his leg.

“I'll take my leave,” he said, standing, gripping his pet by the back of the neck to lead him away. Jongdae let the tension leave his shoulders with a deep and slow exhale, once Kyungsoo was out of the room.

“Don't let him bother you,” Zitao murmured. Jongdae nodded. “You're not so cruel as Taemin. Most don't see that as a flaw.”

“But he sees it as a strength. One that I lack.”

“You have other uses.” Zitao stood, donning advisor's robes, to Jongdae's left. His voice was low and calm, and his hand on Jongdae's arm was firm.

“I somehow don't find that comforting,” Jongdae replied, but there was an itch of a smile back on his face. “Do you think he'll kill the manservant?”

“He may cut him. But death is most likely. Why,” Zitao smiled and he looked like a mischievous child. “Do you want to keep him for yourself? After Taemin?” Jongdae's face tightened as he took in the implications of the question. Taemin could ruin whoever he wanted, and it was likely the manservant wasn't... Salvageable.

“Perhaps,” Jongdae said, having considered his thoughts. “But I've work to do.”

“Very well,” Zitao replied, offering out one rough hand. “Take care.”

“Always.”

Jongdae walked out towards his personal quarters and thought of Taemin, breaking those bright, defiant eyes. He knew what it had taken: something he would never do, never stoop to. Something he was amazed Jongin agreed to stoop to. He seemed such a compassionate, if cool, soul.

And as the Eastland army marched ever closer, stormclouds rolled over the sky.

~

“Wonsik,” Taemin called over the terrified prisoners, locked into stalls like pigs on a farm. “Come here, Wonsik. Come to me willingly, and I won't kill your precious whore.” He watched the crowd with dark eyes. No one came forward. He smiled.

“Yes, I suppose the life of one whore isn't worth the lives of your people, is it, Wonsik. I'll be sure to let the General know of your choice.” He didn't give anyone in the stalls a chance to change their mind, stalking back inside.

“He wouldn't come,” Jongin said.

“Of course not,” Taemin replied. “What good is a whore, traded for many? Besides. We've other things to deal with.”

“You mean the Eastlanders,” Jongin said, keeping in step with Taemin on the way to the War Room. “Are they really a threat?”

“Not so much as they think they are,” he said. “They are allied tribes, but I doubt we'll have to twist their leader's arm too hard to make him see sense. With an effective parlay he will take the people and leave the prince. Then, when the prince is the only one left, we will find out what we need to know.”

“Do you really think it will be that simple,” Jongin asked. Taemin scowled.

“It had best be. I grow tired of this place.”

~

The Eastlanders reached the compound the following day, the sound of their approach muffled by the persistent rain. As they made camp out of the reach of sharp arrows, their War Prince made his way to the gates, riding his huge horse. Painted with smearing war colors, he was granted entrance by the grace of the fact that Kyungsoo was waiting for him.

“And what can I do for you, Hongbin-the-Painted,” he asked, sitting in his chair, his whore nowhere to be seen.

“I'm here to parlay for the release of the Forestens.”

“And what, pray, do you have to parlay with,” Kyungsoo asked, leaning forward as Zitao watched from one side of the chair. “What could you possibly offer me, aside from your cooperation, you allegiance to my army.”

Hongbin had a proud bearing. He stood straight and strong, his dark hair pushed back, shaved on both sides. He wore war garb like a savage: very little armor. It made for fast, dangerous creatures, Kyungsoo knew. He did not want to waste his best on decimating the force outside his compound. It was less than a quarter of the Eastland army. Useless to risk Chanyeol or Joonmyeon, useless to risk Jongdae and Minseok.

“I have information on the mage.”

“And why should I believe you?”

“Bring me the King, and his manservant.”

“Why.”

“The manservant is beloved to the mage. He will make an excellent bargaining chip.”

Kyungsoo eyed Hongbin, tipped his head back. He wouldn't have suspected a manservant to be associated with such a powerful creature. But then again, logic seemed to escape Mages, on the best days.

“And the prince?” he asked, one eyebrow raised.

“I expect him returned to me, along with his people.”

“You expect him to choose,” Kyungsoo said, sitting back and grinning. “Between you and the whore that warms his bed. Why.”

Hongbin's expression darkened. His entire bearing tensed and Kyungsoo laughed loudly, the sound echoing through the war room. “Very well! Very well. I like that. So ruthless. Bring me the whore and his King. Tell his majesty,” he grinned. “That the War Prince is here to parlay.”

Zitao turned to Sehoon, standing beside him in light leather armor. Sehoon nodded, heading out towards the courtyard where the prisoners were being held to inform Taemin of Kyungsoo's order. Zitao made his way to the stairs, called down for the whore to be brought up.

Outside, Taemin called for Wonsik once more, peering out over the huddled crowd. “Come here, Wonsik. The Eastland War Prince is here to parlay with your whore.”

And this time, this time the King stood. He was a tall, handsome, well structured and strong man, with gold skin and broad shoulders, barely dressed. Taemin took a moment to enjoy the view, sneering at the look of disgust the King granted him. “There you are. Yes, yes, come this way,” he waved him over, and when he took too long, he sent Jongin to take his arm, snapping him out and Taemin shoved him to the ground. “So. You're the leader of this...” He looked over the people in the cages. “Band of heathens. Come this way. Kyungsoo wishes to speak to you.”

“What have you done to Hakyeon,” he asked, his eyes dark with temper as he stood. Taemin smiled like an angel.

“Oh, is that your bedwarmers name? How quaint. And... As far as what's been done to him,” he paused. The grin on his face turned sour and wicked. “Nothing you can fix,” he said, starting down the hallway. “This way. Now.”

“What have you done to him,” he snarled. Such a severe expression.

“What an angry face,” Taemin cooed, cupping Wonsik's cheek in one hand. “I'll do much more to him, if you make this difficult for me. I've just come from him, you see. His beautiful body, bloodied for me...” He smiled in remembrance, even as Wonsik bared his teeth. “I will ruin him. I will make it last. You'd be surprised what a man can live through.”

Taemin took great pleasure in the way Wonsik tensed and his hands fisted at his sides. Inciting temper, rage-- breaking that rage. He loved it. Especially over something so scandalous as a whore manservant. And while Taemin was a bit cross that Kyungsoo would get to break the true King, he could enjoy himself elsewhere. There were other toys for him to... Bend, while he was here, doing his true King's work.

The walk to the war room was not long. Wonsik's tense body made for long strides and Taemin knew that Jongin was walking behind him to make sure he didn't take off. They approached the ornate door with little ceremony. Taemin shoved Wonsik against Sehoon and stayed only long enough to peek in the door. He could hardly contain his disappointment as he barely caught sight of Hongbin, standing tall and tight in front of Kyungsoo.

_Damn_ , he thought with a sullen pout. _Damn_. He was going to have to find something else to play with, after all.

~

The tension was thick as Sehoon walked into the room, holding a tall, filthy man by the arm. He was shackled like all the prisoners, and his eyes were attentive and sharp. They darted this way and that, to Hongbin and then to Kyungsoo, then to the dark man being dragged up the stairs by a thick collar around his throat, chains about his wrists. His jaw tightened.

“Ah, I'm sorry,” Kyungsoo said, leaning forward as he noted the King's tension. “We thought he was you, you see. Of course, we had to discipline him, for lying.”

“Wonsik,” Hongbin said, motioning him over as the manservant was thrown to the ground.

“This is the one that gave us your name,” Kyungsoo said, conversationally. Wonsik looked at the fallen man, at the blood seeping from vicious tears on his legs, at the filth that clung to his body. “He was a bit more stubborn than we anticipated. My Inquisitors had quite a time with him. I believe he's fresh from a session.”

“What have you done,” Wonsik asked, staring at Kyungsoo, who leaned back and shrugged.

“Nothing he won't recover from. Yet. Here is your parlay, Wonsik,” he said. “I want information from your manservant. Obtain it for me.”

Wonsik looked back and forth between Kyungsoo and Hongbin, took slow steps towards his manservant, motionless on the stone. “What information,” he asked, kneeling to pull the man up onto his thighs, touching his face with careful hands.

“I want to know where the mage is,” Kyungsoo said simply. “I want to know his name. Who he can be found with.”

Wonsik turned to his manservant, who was shaking his head weakly. “Does your loyalty to him outweigh your loyalty to me?” he asked, pushing back the greasy hair.

“No,” he whispered. “Please don't-- I can't--”

“You must choose,” Wonsik said, feeling Kyungsoo lean forward in his chair. His eyes were like candlelight, bright and burning and Wonsik knew he was being looked over. “Me, or him. You are mine,” he whispered. “Always mine. He is gone. He left you here to suffer.” Such lies he spoke.

“No,” the manservant whispered, and Wonsik felt shame in his belly at the rush of his tears. It was cruel, this game he was playing. He knew the man lying against him, a man who trusted him completely, a man who so foolishly, foolishly loved him, would not win this game. “No, please.”

“Do not forget that he chose the Wild over you,” he said. The man against his legs trembled with tension. “They won't hurt you, they won't hurt you anymore if you tell me. They won't hurt me, or you. We'll be free to leave, you and I and our people.” He felt all of the tension leak from strained shoulders-- _our people--_ and knew that he'd reached the end of the game victorious.

“...Taekwoon,” he sobbed. “His name is Taekwoon. He-- he's north of the Eastmarsh by now, he-- he left weeks ago.” His weeping was wretched, his voice weak and his breathing difficult. Wonsik looked to Kyungsoo, who was grinning with amusement.

“Come here, King,” he hissed. Wonsik gently laid his manservant down to the floor, cradling his head to make sure he didn't crack it against the stone. He walked closer to Kyungsoo, who got out of his chair to grab him by the hair and yank him down to be at eye level with him, on his knees while Kyungsoo perched in his chair. “You cannot take him with you. He's mine.”

“Yo--”

“You may go free,” he said, grinning. “You may go free with your people, with this fine War Prince before me, but he stays here. Else you stay with him.”

“Wonsik,” Hongbin said, his shoulders tense. He'd watched the exchange with disgust and barely concealed hatred: Hakyeon had been tolerable, before Wonsik had taken a fancy to his backside and the way he looked when he was well-fucked. “Wonsik, your people need you. Please. Come with me.”

The man on the floor wept. Wonsik looked between his choices and Kyungsoo let him go, shoving him away. “Say your goodbyes however you choose them,” he said.

Hongbin's hand reached out for Wonsik, who hesitated. He looked at his manservant, shattered on the floor and weighed his loyalty against his affection. Hongbin was right, of course. His people needed him: did he need the man on the stone?

Kyungsoo grinned as Wonsik offered his arm to Hongbin. “It is settled then,” he said, one hand on his hip. “Get out. Take your filthy people with you. If you are still camped in the morning, I'll kill you all.”

“Wonsik,” the man on the floor whimpered as Hongbin led Wonsik to the door of the war room. Wonsik hesitated. Hongbin looked at him expectantly, and after a moment, Wonsik resumed his pace, ignored the sound of rattling chain, the sound of flesh hitting stone, the sound of a broken heart, glass in the throat and gut. “Wonsik--”

He'd asked his manservant to choose: and he, too, had chosen.

“Wonsik, please--”

He'd chosen to leave him with nothing.

The door closed behind him, and Hongbin's hand wrapped tight around his own.

~


	4. (four)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter contains graphic sex and mentions of non-consensual sex/rape.

“Deal with that,” Kyungsoo motioned, scowling in distaste at the wretched man weeping on the floor. It was pitiful, to see a man so broken and weak. “Get it out of my sight. Cut it, sell it or kill it, I don't care.”

“Of course, sir,” Zitao nodded, motioning to two of the men hidden in the War Room. “You heard him. Take him down to Yixing.”

“Cutting him? What for.” Kyungsoo said, eyebrow cocked. That was much more work than a simple execution and it was highly likely the man would die, anyway.

“Jongdae expressed an interest,” Zitao said, shrugging his shoulder. “He has no manservant. I might as well indulge him.”

“Aah,” Kyungsoo nodded. “Very well. Half-cut him then. He deserves a toy who will respond. Make sure I'm not interrupted for the rest of the day,” he said. Zitao could see the bulge in the front of his pants. It seemed clear that nothing pleased Kyungsoo like cruelty. Nothing incensed him so much as the tears of the broken, the cries of the helpless. Moreso the power he held over them. “I'll be busy.”

“Of course, sir,” he nodded, watching the men carry the limp and unresponsive man down the stairs to the prison cells. He turned on his heel to make his way back to his own quarters, where Sehoon would be waiting for him. He was eager to collapse into his warm arms and forget all he'd seen that day.

~

Kyungsoo all but waltzed into his quarters, grinning wickedly. Little pleased him more than exerting his power over others, watching it break them down. And he'd had the pleasure of watching two crumble under his fist. He snarled for his manservant, who appeared in front of him, wearing nothing. “There you are,” he said, grabbing the man by the hair and throwing him to the floor in front of his desk chair. “Suck,” he demanded, yanking on the soft strands when the man didn't move fast enough for him, his delicate fingers struggling to unbutton the tight pants Kyungsoo wore. He grunted in approval when the man's mouth finally closed around his cock, hard and thick. He used his grip to drag his head up and down, enjoying the soft sucking sounds, the little chokes when he pushed him down too far. He always enjoyed his pet, no matter how he took him.

“Fuck, your throat is lovely,” he said. He shoved the man's head all the way down and held him there, groaning as he felt the man's gag reflex clench around his tip. “Yes,” he hummed, kicking his hips up while his manservant choked, tears on his cheeks. “I love your mouth, pet,” he said, scratching his nails over the scalp. “If I pulled out all your pretty little teeth, you'd be perfect.”

The man on his knees choked and whimpered. Kyungsoo pulled him up so fast the man spat up, a trickle of bile down his chin. “Clean that up,” he said. “Get on the bed.” He took great pleasure in watching his slave scramble to do as he was told. He was proud of how he'd broken this particular man, molded him perfectly to his desires.

Once he was on the bed, Kyungsoo grabbed for his favorite switch. “Get your ass up,” he said, snapping the thin branches of the switch against the pale, perfect skin. His slave cried out, head hung, forehead to his forearms. Kyungsoo snapped the switch again, and the man's legs parted further, his weight dropping. “Up, bitch,” he snarled, hitting the pale backside particularly hard as the man did as he was told. “Legs together.”

Kyungsoo had obtained this man as a ransom. The youngest prince, given in exchange for bodies of the dead. Kyungsoo wasn't going to accept the deal, until he saw the boy. Small, delicate-boned and so very pretty. He had a weakness for pretty things. So he'd given the king the dead, traded for a boy and loyalty, and he'd brought the frightened prince to his chambers and ruined him.

He'd been the first to claim him. Listened to him cry, felt him squirm and fight that first time. The second time, Kyungsoo was gentle, attentive and careful. He'd kissed his quivering mouth and promised that pain would only come in pleasure, that a good whore accepted what he was given and gladly, because out with the soldiers, he would be torn to pieces. And slowly, so slowly, the boy started to change. A willing slave, who asked no questions, accepted pain and pleasure on equal measure, took one for the promise of the other. Kyungsoo coveted him with great fierceness. There were many who demanded a turn with him; there were many who lost a finger or a hand in attempts to take him without Kyungsoo's permission.

He thought about the way Wonsik's slave had wept, had called out his master's name in agony even as the man abandoned him. He imagined his own pet, screaming for him in agony and found himself displeased. He ran one hand up his own slave's reddened skin and watched him shiver. He set aside his switch and reached instead for a stick of aloe, squeezing it in his hand until it's insides were squished, liquid and cool. He bit off the end.

“Spread yourself,” he said, watching those beautiful fingers reach back to cup an equally beautiful ass and spread it open, exposing everything. Kyungsoo pushed the top of the aloe stem inside with a bit of struggle and squeezed. His whore moaned gently, clenched around the skin of the stem. “You're such a hungry pet,” he said, pulling stem out and squeezing the last of the pulpy gel into one palm. “On your back. You were so good today, I think I'll reward you.”

His slave had quietly sucked him through a meeting, noiseless and attentively bobbing his head, moaning just soft enough for Kyungsoo to hear under the voices of the other General, sent by the King to check on his progress. He'd swallowed and cleaned up his mess, demurely made his way out of the room while the other General stared in wonder. Such good behavior deserved a treat.

(though perhaps, a part of Kyungsoo wondered, he was rewarding his pet for his loyalty, for his unwavering love and submission, his quiet kisses to the tops of Kyungsoo's thighs that morning, the way his hands had rubbed while he washed his feet.)

Kyungsoo looked down at the man laying himself out. So pretty. Thin and pale, with soft eyes and pierced, swollen nipples. The insides of his thighs were bruised with Kyungsoo's savage thrusting, but as he stroked himself wet he watched his slave position his hips for the best, most pleasurable angle. “That's a good boy,” Kyungsoo said, getting up on his knees and pushing inside of his servant without preamble. The man could take him, he knew that. But he took pleasure in the whimper, the tremulous moan that the man made. “Oh, that's a good boy. Take it, yes...”

In an act of well-secreted tenderness, Kyungsoo leaned down to rest his forearms on either side of his slave's chest, pushing up under his shoulders to stroke his hair. He looked down into those beautiful eyes and kissed those soft lips, smiling at the sigh of _please_ his slave whispered out against him.

“You take me so well, pet,” he said, pushing his hips forward, fisting his hands in dark hair and pulling, the man's neck bared for his teeth. Kyungsoo enjoyed fucking men. There was little that pleased him more than a man beneath him, desperate and writhing and perfect. And while this man was not so savage as Kyungsoo himself, there was still pleasure to be taken from him; pleasure freely given. “Such a good boy, good boy. Who do you belong to, sweet boy.”

“Aahyou,” he breathed, small hands cautiously touching Kyungsoo's shoulders. “You, I belong to you, ah...”

“My name, pet,” Kyungsoo said, thrusting hard and deep, enjoying his slave's cut-off breath, his gasping mewls.

“Kyungsoo,” he whimpered, holding Kyungsoo's shoulders in his hands, wrapping his thin legs around his hips and shifting to allow for deeper thrusts. “Kyungsoo, I belong to you, I'm only yours, aah...”

“That's right, pet,” he said, kissing his neck, biting to make marks. “You're mine. You're mine. Only mine.”

In the back of his mind, Kyungsoo was disgusted with Wonsik: a man should treat his slaves with appropriate affection, when they behaved themselves. And Wonsik's slave had been very loyal. He'd only betrayed when Taemin's knife had cut him open: Kyungsoo could understand. Jongin had said the man begged for no harm to come to Wonsik, before he cried for the pain to stop. He'd been more concerned about Wonsik's life, than his own. To have a whore so loyal was a gift. Wonsik should have fought harder to keep him.

Kyungsoo pushed harder into the man beneath him, bit his throat and hissed when he clenched, bowing up against him. “Aah,” came the small man's voice, light as spring. “Aah, yes-- yes, please--”

“Are you going to cum,” Kyungsoo asked, sitting up enough to look down at his slave, who moved his hips in rocking rhythm, rubbed his length against Kyungsoo's belly. “Are you going to come apart, and I won't even have to touch you. You've waited all day, sweet boy, would you like a reward?”

“Yes,” he panted, his eyes bright. “Yes, Kyungsoo, yes--”

“That's my good boy, my beautiful boy,” he said, pushing his hips forward hard as he could, deep inside of him. “My pretty Baekhyun.”

The slave wailed out his orgasm, jerking under Kyungsoo and struggling to hold on to him, squeezing and trembling. “Oh, oh Kyungsoo, please, please--”

“Yes,” he snarled, yanking Baekhyun's head back to bite viciously at his neck, his cock pulsing inside of his pets tight, soft heat. “Yes. Take it.”

Baekhyun whimpered, nodding, clutching at Kyungsoo's shoulders until the man let go of his neck, eased himself up. For a moment, Kyungsoo stared down at him, took in his soft, flushed face. Baekhyun's loyalty was absolute. He knew this: he'd tested it. His pet was irreplaceable.

He bent to kiss Baekhyun's mouth, sucked at his lips, his tongue. The smaller man moaned gently, cupped his face in something that felt better than all the sex Kyungsoo could have, from anyone he chose. It was... Important. Special. Baekhyun didn't try to hold Kyungsoo when he started to move away. “Get yourself cleaned up, pet,” he said, his voice not quite as hard as usual. “You'll sleep with me tonight.”

Baekhyun scrambled to do as he was told, and Kyungsoo watched after him. Perhaps Wonsik simply hadn't spent the time on his pet. Perhaps he simply didn't want him enough to parlay for his freedom. He'd been expecting that-- an attempt to parlay his slave free. And when it hadn't come, he'd felt pity for the thing on his war room floor. He'd thought death would be a mercy, apparently Jongdae and Zitao had other ideas.

But now he was the duty of someone else, and Kyungsoo's mind was filled with the mageling, Taekwoon, and the way Baekhyun's body would tuck in against his own, his tiny whimpers in sleep surely goading Kyungsoo to claim him again before morning.

Yes, a good slave's loyalty was priceless, he thought, as Baekhyun cleaned himself beside the fireplace. It was to Wonsik's disadvantage that he'd given up his own so easily.

~

 


	5. (five)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter contains graphic sex and mentions of explicit violence.

Jongdae watched the man-- Hakyeon, he'd learned his name was-- after the cut. He was lying on the hard, heartless slab of wood they called a bed, pale and bandaged at the groin. Zitao told him that Kyungsoo had decided to half-cut him, instead of kill him: an act of consideration for Jongdae. Yixing had done his best to minimize and heal the wounds of the cut-- he'd used a clean, hot knife to half-emasculate the slave. Hakyeon had screamed and strained and thrashed, wailed in agony before finally falling into unconsciousness. It had been...

Jongdae closed his eyes at the memory of Kyungsoo, fresh from ruining his own favorite manwhore, taking the ruined prisoner's face in too-gentle hands and reminding him that he was left behind by the man he'd sworn his loyalty to. Left behind because his King was a faithless, traitorous wretch and nothing more. The man had wept, oh, he'd wept. Heart-wrenching, heaving sobs until he finally couldn't cry anymore. He hadn't bothered trying to defend Wonsik; simply sobbed his name between breaths. Kyungsoo had told him of his new position: a true whore for the soldiers he kept, before leaving the room. He'd pulled Jongdae aside, stared up at him. _Claim him now, if you ever will. Or I will toss him to the dogs._

“You were right,” Hakyeon had said, when Jongdae brought him a modest meal a few hours later, no more comfortable with the prospect of claiming him than he had been when Kyungsoo had glared at him. He would not fuck a man who could only respond through agony. Perhaps it was a weakness. Jongdae still felt naked and exposed as the man weeping on the bed. “No lord keeps a whore for love.”

That had been two days ago. Now Hakyeon laid half-conscious and still, crying in silence, staring out over the room. It was pointless to keep him down here, Jongdae thought. He'd served his purpose, there was no harm in letting him out of the damp cell. It surely wasn't helping his condition. Two days after the cut and he was still lying there, in a mess of his own filth, unable or unwilling to move.

“You look upset,” Yixing said. Jongdae said nothing. “If you want him, you should speak up. Zitao saved him for your sake. Otherwise he'll be given to the soldiers and treated like the rest of them. Or worse, given back to Taemin.”

“I don't think...” Jongdae trailed off.

“Make your decision soon, friend,” Yixing said. “I'm afraid... Without a reason, he won't rise again.”

“How am I to give him a reason to live, I tortured him half to death,” Jongdae mumbled. “Unlike Taemin I have shame. And a conscience.”

“A kicked dog will still lick the hand that feeds it,” Yixing said, wiping his hands. Jongdae scowled: he hated with Yixing did that. Got all wise and philosophical. But the idea was not displeasing. A manservant, loyal and soft, weaned from fear with a gentleness Jongdae did not like to put on display. He was not... A monster. He was not Taemin. But Yixing's tongue did not idly wag and a secret would be safe with him.

“...Let me in,” he said, motioning to the door. “Bring me basins, soap and rags. Then leave.”

Yixing smiled with serenity, and reached to unlock the cell door without hesitation. Jongdae stepped inside, and moved towards the man on the wooden bed. “Sit up,” he said, his voice clear and ringing in the dank heaviness of the air. “Sit up, you're disgusting. If you're going to get out of here, you must be cleaned.”

He was surprised, when the man rose. His bruised arms shook as he pushed himself up from the puddle of bile his head had been resting in. Jongdae's nose wrinkled in disgust. Yixing opened the door, holding a heavy basin of water, a small stack of rags on his shoulder. He placed both on the bare end table. “I'll bring soap and something for him to wear,” he said, leaving the door open as he went to do that. Jongdae took one of the rags and wet it, letting it soak up water before gripping it in his hands and wringing it out over the man's-- Hakyeon's-- head. He didn't flinch, just stared at Jongdae's chest. Jongdae did it again, this time using the rag to rub at the side of his face. Yixing brought him the lump of soap, smelling like lavender, and he rubbed that over the dark hair, the sallowed skin.

“Disgusting,” he chided. “You're filthy. Your cut is going to get infected.” Hakyeon just stared, shifting gently while Jongdae squeezed water over his body, rubbed away the mess on his arms and chest. “Stand up,” he said. “Come on, up.”

His feet touched the floor, his hands holding the table. Jongdae wondered if he could stand on his own. He knew he'd been cut almost three days ago. He also knew Taemin had been here twice since then. There was only so much Yixing could do to keep the man healed between brutalities: that was why he was still bruised, still aching.

Forcing the thoughts of Taemin out of his mind, Jongdae washed away the crusted urine, the dried and flaking blood from the insides of dark thighs. He squeezed water to the hard wooden bed and wiped it clean of mess, thanking Yixing quietly when the man brought him a fresh basin. “Up,” he told Hakyeon. “On your side, facing the wall.”

It was unnerving, to watch the man do as he was told with no hesitation or question. It seemed wrong in so many ways. Just a few days before this man was defiant, fierce-eyed and lock-toothed, refused to give up a word about his King or the Mage. And now... “Lift your leg,” Jongdae prompted, one rag-wrapped hand cupped against Hakyeon's raw backside. “Push out.” He swallowed his gag as the Hakyeon did so. Cum, traced with blood. Jongdae couldn't tell if it came from the rips in his skin, or from his insides. He tossed the rag to the corner and grabbed another, wet it, soaped it, and carefully rubbed the the reddened skin, stopping at the sound of a weak sob.

“What are you crying for,” he asked softly, rinsing the rag and bringing it back to wipe away the lather of soap. He tried to keep his voice low, his hands slowed with tenderness. “Does it hurt?” The man nodded, and Jongdae scowled. “Where, here? Or your cut.” Another little hiccup and Jongdae sighed. “On your back, now. Spread your legs.”

Hakyeon did as he was told, spreading his legs. They were long enough that his knees were bent over either side of the wooden slab they called a bed. Jongdae called for Yixing. “Is he able to be cleaned yet,” he asked, and Yixing nodded.

“Just be gentle. Don't tear out the threads.”

“Very well.”

Jongdae pulled away the bandage covering the man's groin. The cut was clean, the stitches tight and neat. There was no inflammation, no redness around the stitches that cupped the small swell beneath Hakyeon's limp penis. Yixing had managed to maintain the cleanliness of this wound. Good. Still, Hakyeon flinched at the touch of the cloth. “What,” Jongdae asked, an unpleasant thought crossing his mind. Surely Taemin wouldn't-- _He would_ , he thought, sourness in his face as he looked down at Hakyeon, shivering on the wood.

“Did he grab you here,” he asked, touching his fingers to the stitches. The way the man jumped was a confirmation, and Jongdae once again found himself disgusted with Taemin, whose cruelty knew no limits, it seemed. “I'm going to clean you,” he said, soaping his fingers. “I'll use my hand. It won't hurt.” Hakyeon whimpered, shaking his head weakly. “It won't hurt,” Jongdae repeated, his voice a bit more soothing as his fingers rubbed over the stitches, the soft cock and battered thighs. Hakyeon whined, his chest jumping until Jongdae took a cup of water and washed the soap away.

“There,” Jongdae said, grabbing for the sheet Yixing had left for clothing. “There, that wasn't so bad, was it. Come on, stand up now. You can't lay there forever.”

Hakyeon got up with much struggle. Jongdae took the sheet and wrapped it about his body, to make sure he was covered. It wouldn't do to let someone else see his manservant's naked body. It seemed like a struggle for Hakyeon to walk and Jongdae guided him carefully, giving a wave to Yixing. “Come and check on him whenever it's necessary. And tell Taemin that if I catch him in my quarters, I'll do worse than I did the last time he crossed me.” He felt Hakyeon tense at Taemin's name, rubbed his hand at his shoulder.

Yixing nodded, smiling placidly. “I will. I'll be up before night watch, just to see if he needs rebandaging.”

Jongdae nodded, and he led Hakyeon carefully to the stairs, feeling surprisingly soft. When it became clear that Hakyeon could not climb them without overwhelming pain, Jongdae carefully lifted him in his arms. His weight was light, and he confirmed his original wishes, as he carried him up the stairs with one of Hakyeon's hands clenched in his shirt. It was one thing to have a manservant: it was another to nurse one to health, to want one to trust him, to want... To want to help, to heal. Kyungsoo wouldn't approve, he was sure. His own whore had been a ransom. And he'd taken pleasure in breaking and reforming him, reshaping him into his favored image.

~

The door to Hongbin's quarters in his longhouse closed behind Wonsik with a heavy sound. With his mind full of thoughts of his manservant, he almost didn't hear his lover speaking to him.

“Wonsik,” Hongbin said, holding his arm. “Wonsik, it's been days. Does your choice still trouble you?”

“Doesn't it trouble you?” Wonsik asked, his voice not too far from shaking. Hongbin pursed his mouth: if he was going to be honest, he didn't care that Hakyeon was left to Kyungsoo's devices. He didn't care, because the man had been all that stood between him and Wonsik's absolute love and loyalty.

“Was there anything to be done about it,” he asked, rubbing Wonsik's arms. “Kyungsoo would have murdered you both. And your people would be leaderless, and you would be rotting in a shallow grave.”

Wonsik nodded. Hongbin reached to let the other man lean against him, smoothing his hair. “I am sorry, for the hurt it causes you. Selfishly,” he admitted. “I am glad that you are alive, and breathing, here with me.”

Wonsik's chest jumped and Hongbin kissed his ear. “You did what was best.”

“Did I?” he asked, swallowing.

“You're a leader. A king. You did what was best for your people,” he said. “An entire tribe is not replaceable. Do not think you were unwise.” Even outside of Hongbin's own dislike for Hakyeon, he knew that to be true. A servant could be replaced. An entire people could not.

Wonsik swallowed. He thought of Hakyeon, his bright and beautiful eyes, his smile and the warmth of his hands while Wonsik used him for comfort, companionship. Hakyeon would never betray him, except it seemed that he had. He'd given them his name and as a result Wonsik had agreed to join Kyungsoo's legion. His people would be safe. They would be allowed to prosper on their own, only ever answering the call to war. Hakyeon was gone, and he, himself... He was free to pursue...

“Come and lie with me, lover,” Hongbin said. “Let me take care of you.” Wonsik nodded, walking toward the bed. He pulled off his shirt, took in a sharp breath at the touch of Hongbin's strong, warm hands.

“You have the body of a warrior,” he murmured, his lips on Wonsik's back. “So strong, Wonsik. Let me take care of you.” Wonsik turned to look at Hongbin as the man bent to kiss one of his hands, the inside of one elbow. He shuddered, sat back on the bed and looked at Hongbin, who knelt in front of him. The sound of the men pacing up and down the halls outside was static in his ears. He wanted-- needed-- to lose himself in this.

Hongbin leaned forward to kiss his chest. He smoothed his hands down Wonsik's body and licked at his skin, pressed his own belly forward against Wonsik's groin. He could understand why his lover was being so passive. To lose a slave so suddenly could be traumatizing, especially when that slave was also a friend. But he would make Wonsik forget all about Hakyeon. Hakyeon was gone: Wonsik belonged with Hongbin. He could not be a slave to Hakyeon's memory.

“When were you last with a man,” he asked, idly sucking at one nipple. He knew the answer.

“Two weeks ago,” Wonsik said, swallowing hard as he bowed his head to look down at his lover-- the last man to take him, on the floor in front of the fireplace, biting his ear, his neck.

“Open your legs for me, lover,” he said, pulling down Wonsik's pants, tugging them off and away from his bare feet. Wonsik was dirty, unwashed but Hongbin didn't care. Wonsik was here, alive, had escaped Kyungsoo-- the Butcher-- unharmed. He bent to take Wonsik's cock into his mouth, sucking noisily.

“Nn,” Wonsik hissed, parting his thighs and pushing up into Hongbin's throat. The man in front of him sighed and pushed down, bobbed his head in a pleasant, slow rhythm. Wonsik felt his cock stiffen, his balls tighten. “Nn, Hongbin--”

“Let me feel you inside me,” he said, lapping at the tip of Wonsik's dick and easing away. “Get up on the bed, lover.” He smiled when Wonsik did as he was told, grabbing a small glass jar and twisting it open. He pushed one finger inside himself without hesitation. Wonsik hissed at the sight, reached to do it himself, after sticking his finger into the jar. Hongbin sighed, spreading his legs and easing down, up, and down on first one finger, then two.

Wonsik pushed and pulled his hand insistently, slicking more salve onto his fingers as he pushed in a third. Hongbin moved up and down on his hand, one of his own wrapped around Wonsik's cock and stroking.

“Ah--” Wonsik dropped his head back, face flushed with pleasure. He could feel his blood truly starting to heat. Could feel pleasure racing through his groin.

“It's good?” Hongbin asked, his fingers reaching down to cup Wonsik's ballsac, just holding carefully squeezing. “It's good to let someone else take care of you... Take their time, draw it out...” He fucked himself down onto Wonsik's fingers, panting and straining his legs as Wonsik tried to straighten his elbow.

“Hongbin, let me...” he breathed, pushing his fingers in and up, over and over and over until Hongbin's narrow hips were cocked down to offer him the best angle with no protest. “Let me fuck you.” Hongbin groaned and nodded, pulling himself up and shifting to straddle Wonsik's hips. He'd slicked Wonsik's girth and groaned, lowering his body, bowing his head. His man, now. He rubbed Wonsik's tip against himself, pushed down until he was sitting on strong, hard hips. His.

“Fuck,” Wonsik hissed, grabbing Hongbin's hips and squeezing, bucking up. “Nn, so tight--” Hongbin's beautiful, scarred body pleased him-- he was tight and tense, and Wonsik could not think of someone else while fucking up into him in short, hard thrusts. He could not mistake Hongbin for anyone else.

“That's it, Wonsik,” Hongbin said, reaching to fist a hand in dark hair, yanking his head back. “Yes, just like that. You're big, so good... Give it to me, please me,<i> fuck me.</i>”

Wonsik looked up at Hongbin, snapped his hips with frightening force. He jerked himself up and threw Hongbin onto his back, listening to his breathless laugh, feeling his fingernails dragging up his back.

Wonsik's hips pushed forward so hard he shoved Hongbin half off the bed, raking nails from his shoulders to his groin while the smaller man grunted, groaned in appreciation. “I love to fuck you,” Wonsik hissed, kicking his hips forward with force. “No one else will never fuck you so well. Never, do you understand me?” His hands buried into Hongbin's hair, fisted and yanked his head back. He enjoyed the sound of his startled choke, the laugh it turned into. It was this shameless lust that had drawn him to Hongbin in the first place: the wild, painted War Prince, with more kills to his name than any other in his tribe, second only to the chief.

“Aahaha-- yes, _yes,_ Wonsik, yes-- Nnn, fuck me, harder-- faster--”

Wonsik pinned Hongbin's head to the bed with one hand, the other reaching to push one leg out of the way, giving him space to fuck into him hard and fast. “Your ass is so hungry,” he said, enjoying the way Hongbin moaned, flexed his hips back and forth. “If I'd known I'd have fucked you right from the beginning, from the minute I saw you.”

“Nnn, fuck you,” Hongbin groaned, his balls crushed between his body and Wonsik's belly with every savage shove of Wonsik's hips. He cocked his hips up and forward, matching Wonsik's merciless pace. “Yes, fuck me like that, it's good, so good--”

Wonsik bit down on his lover's shoulder, thinking only of Hongbin, thinking of his teeth and hands, his ass and his legs, wrapped around Wonsik's hips. He would not let himself think of the texture of treebark against the tops of his thighs, strong hands holding his arms, a soft mouth parted for his tongue. _you're mine,_ Wonsik had always said. _and I am yours_. What a terrible lie it had been. Words that should have been promises gone up in smoke as easily as a threat was given.

Wonsik's cock was pulling out and pushing in too fast; it hurt, stung, and with a shout Hongbin came over his belly and the bedspread, squeezing tight even as Wonsik sat up and grunted, forcing his legs apart and pulling out to the tip, baring his teeth as he came. He shoved his hips forward, head hanging, his bangs wet on his forehead.

Hongbin panted, breathless. Wonsik looked down at him, at the bruises he'd left on his neck, arms and hips and felt shame as Hongbin reached to pull him down, to kiss him.

Hongbin's tongue was wet and soft, and Wonsik groaned, half-hiccuping into his lover's mouth. His lover was here. Hongbin was cradling him, his body warm and strong, and his people were safe, his tribe would survive, and he would be with his love.

He would not think of the slave he'd left behind. It wasn't his concern what Kyungsoo did with the whores he kept.

~

“You've decided to keep him, then.”

“Yes.”

Jongdae felt Kyungsoo staring at him. He looked up at him, met his gaze quietly. Kyungsoo nodded in something like approval, and Jongdae let himself take a breath.

“Very well. Make sure he stays out of the way. You will be staying here with Minseok to keep an eye on things while I go with Joonmyeon and Chanyeol to find this damned thorn in the King's side so we can get home.”

“And what of Baekhyun,” Jongdae asked. “Will he be going with you?”

“No.” Kyungsoo said, his eyes hard. “He will be here. You and Minseok are charged with keeping him safe and untouched, do you understand me?”

“Of course, sir,” Jongdae nodded. He wasn't interested in Baekhyun. He couldn't speak for Minseok, but Jongdae was happy with Hakyeon's company: sullen and silent though he was. Outside of Kyungsoo's company, Baekhyun was even more intolerable than he was _in_ Kyungsoo's company: fidgety, anxious, moving too fast for the rest of the world to keep up with him. Baekhyun seemed always incomplete and unhappy without Kyungsoo, despite what Jongdae knew had happened between them. He would not question his general's choices, but he would quietly wonder at them as Kyungsoo stalked off in the direction of his rooms, presumably to spend a few hours with his bitch before leaving him for who knew how long.

And Jongdae went back to his own quiet, sparse quarters to check on Hakyeon, who had not moved from the bed Jongdae laid him on two days before.

“Come now,” he said as he walked to that bed, keeping his voice low and unthreatening. Yixing told him it might be like this, that Taemin-- and the brutal rejection from his former master-- might break the man, like starlight faded in the morning. Jongdae hoped it wasn't true. Such fire should not have been quenched, so he did his best to attempt bringing the embers back to life. “Come now, get up. The apple tree is blooming.”

Jongdae had the good fortune to have a room facing south and just outside his window, within easy arms reach, was an apple tree. It had been his comfort on many nights since they'd come here, running on this wild chase for a man who might or might not be alive, regardless of what Hakyeon had said. The Eastmarsh was not a friendly place. It's inhabitants and the threats of the environment were enough to keep most away. No matter the magical power, no matter how great the control, to think one could get through the Eastmarsh – and then through the salt sea – unharmed was foolish.

With one step, he wrapped his hand around Hakyeon's shoulder. “Come,” he said, trying to ease him up. He was clearly still in some pain; the morning before, the cut had been swollen and itchy. Yixing had given Jongdae a salve and an apology-- there was only so much healing he could do without bringing harm to himself, also.

Hakyeon moved as though he were half-asleep, needing to lean heavily into Jongdae, who led him to the bench beside the window. It wasn't the home in the capital city-- not Jongdae's true home, with all of his books and his maps, his high balconies and wrought-iron lattice, but the view from the window sometimes helped him forget that he missed his home.

The apple tree was in full bloom, branches arching out into the grey of the sky. Tiny white blossoms shook in the breeze, and Hakyeon stared at them. For a long minute that was all he did, stared, and Jongdae worried at his bottom lip. Perhaps Taemin had gone too far. Perhaps he, too, had...

One dark hand reached out past the sill of the window. With wonder, Jongdae watched Hakyeon's fingers touch the blooms, become smeared with pollen, attracting fat, buzzing honeybees. He watched Hakyeon watching the insects until his fingers were clean.

“...at home,” he said, his voice rasping from disuse. “The apple trees never bloom till ninth month. I thought. Thought I'd killed them.”

“Did you keep a garden?” Jongdae asked, moving to sit behind Hakyeon, to let the man lean back into him. Hakyeon slumped back, muscles quivering.

“Yes,” he said. “Yes, I kept a garden, before...”

“Before?” Jongdae prompted. Hakyeon's chest shuddered.

“Before my King placed my services elsewhere.”

Jongdae gave himself a moment to think about that. About the way Hakyeon had spoken, about the release of tension as he leaned back into Jongdae like an exhausted dog, too weak, too tired to continue.

“When we go back to the capital city,” he found himself saying. “My home has a garden I'm told was beautiful, but... I'm afraid I've let it overgrow. Perhaps...” He turned his hand to let his palm rest against Hakyeons. “Perhaps you could teach me how to keep it properly.”

Hakyeon was silent for so long Jongdae was sure he'd fallen asleep. Then, his voice small and meek, he said, “I will teach you.”

Jongdae, deep in his chest, felt joy and relief like he'd never felt before. And the sun, which he hadn't seen in days, started to peek through the clouds.

~

 

 


	6. (six)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter contains graphic sex and genderbent (sort of) chanyeol.

“He's taking them to the Eastmarsh in hopes of catching the Mage. Should I—”

“If you can get the information you need without being caught, do so. The whore should be easily overpowered, frightened into speaking. Make sure not to bring your pet.”

“Jongin is of no consequence,” Taemin snarled. “He will be easily discarded.”

“Be sure of that,” the King snarled. “We're so close. Don't fail me now.”

“Of course not,” Taemin said, but the image of his King was already gone.

Agitation lit his veins, and he prowled out into the compound to find a body to fuck.

~

The night before the raiding party was set to leave, Minseok found himself with Joonmyeon and Chanyeol. Joonmyeon, quietly reading in his chair, was paying no mind to the way Minseok and Chanyeol scrabbled across the room, fighting like cats, scratching, biting, burning with ice and fire until Minseok pinned the taller man and slammed his head down into the packed dirt floor, as many times as it took for him to stop protesting.

“Why do you make this so hard,” he snarled, ripping off Chanyeol's clothes while he protested and Joonmyeon watched on.

“Be careful,” Joonmyeon chided, as Minseok pushed his icy forearm into Chanyeol's mouth like a bit, the other hand pushing down to grip him between the legs, His cold fingertips touched the wet, warm flesh one would find on a woman, not a man of Chanyeol's height and stature.

Jongdae could keep his slave-- Kyungsoo could keep Baekhyun. Chanyeol was the best of both worlds and Minseok was satisfied with him, even more with Joonmyeon's disinterested watching until his cock throbbed hard in his trousers and he demanded relief from one of them. And Chanyeol loved the chase just as much as Minseok did, because no matter what the result, he won: he won, because Minseok would either be on top of him or below him but still inside him, still fucking into him with a brutality Chanyeol was used to, had come to love.

Before Minseok and Joonmyeon had _found_ Chanyeol, they'd been taking soldiers into their room; Minseok had his wicked way and Joonmyeon watched from across the room until he wanted to get involved. But Minseok was never truly satisfied with either a man, or a woman. One was too hard, too eager to attempt domination and the other was too soft, too submissive. Even the warrior women turned into minxes in a soldier's bed. And Chanyeol...

They'd found him in a swamp. Filthy, wild and violent. They dragged him out of the wet trees as he attempted to burn them, shouted in a voice that shook their lungs. Joonmyeon visualized the cage and Minseok froze it into reality: Chanyeol couldn't burn in such cold. Not then, anyway.

It had taken Joonmyeon nearly an hour to persuade Minseok that just fucking the tall, nude man into the ground was not a good way to assert himself. They'd been sent there to retrieve him for his gift. Sex was just a bonus, and it had to be taken willingly, else they'd come here for nothing, because the man would refuse to work for them.

So it was Joonmyeon who coddled, cooed and soothed. It was Joonmyeon and the water dancing at his fingertips that made Chanyeol curious enough to approach, to touch cool skin and allow himself to be touched in return. It was Joonmyeon who, after five days, had convinced Chanyeol that it was all right, and pleasurable, to submit. While Minseok watched on, Joonmyeon parted Chanyeol's legs and tongued him-- her?-- to orgasm, his thighs shaking, chest jumping.

And when Joonmyeon had guided Minseok between those legs, Chanyeol was theirs. With Joonmyeon's hands on his hips creating the rhythm and force, Minseok slow-fucked into wet heat until Chanyeol caught fire, Minseok's gift preventing him from burning to ash.

“Why do you have to make everything so godsdamned difficult?” he grumbled, biting at Chanyeol's chest.

“Because,” Chanyeol panted, grinning up at the smaller man. “You don't like it.”

“Bitch,” he hissed, icing Chanyeol's wrists to the stone, forcing two fingers inside his body. Chanyeol moaned, spreading his thighs and bucking his hips onto the cool digits. He grinned up at Minseok, opened his mouth and let his tongue rest on his lip: he sighed when Minseok's cold mouth touched his. For a few long minutes Chanyeol rocked his hips onto Minseok's fingers and arched up into his mouth, whether it was kissing his mouth or torturing his neck with icy breath and bites.

“There's my good girl,” Minseok hummed, moving to tongue at Chanyeol's nipples, firm and soft under his lips. They were round and fleshy, bigger than a mans and far more sensitive-- Joonmyeon had suggested that Chanyeol might be capable of bearing children, before they discovered he had no moon bleed. “Such a pretty girl.”

“I'm not-- aah--” Chanyeol strained his hips and spread his legs, cursed as Minseok started to push his fingers in and out with more force. He made sure the slap of his palm to skin was wet and gentle enough that it made Chanyeol squirm. “N-not--”

“Not just a girl, no,” Minseok grinned, pulling his fingers out, sucking on them as he moved between Chanyeol's long legs. He rose easily to lust, especially for Chanyeol, whose heat let him feel something he'd never been able to. “My girl, my pretty girl. No one elses.”

“Except mine,” Joonmyeon chuckled from his chair.

“I feel that goes without saying,” Minseok replied, not bothering to look up as he guided his cock inside of Chanyeol's cunt, into wetness hotter than anything he'd ever experienced. When he coupled with Chanyeol, Minseok felt _warmth._

It was heady and mind-bending. Minseok had never known warmth before this, had never felt heat as others experienced it. Now that Chanyeol was in his possession, he had no intention of surrendering him or his affections. Only once had Kyungsoo demanded his right with Chanyeol. Only once had he taken him, under Minseok's watchful, jealous eye. But since then, only Joonmyeon had joined him in this: the wash of steam and fire that only the three of them could create.

“Minseok,” Chanyeol whispered, reaching to tug him down. Minseok bent to rest his head on Chanyeol's chest, felt the heat in his skin, felt it wrap around their bodies. “Aah, Minseok, it... You feel...” Chanyeol forced himself up onto his elbows and caught Minseok's mouth with his own. “It feels good.” Minseok bit Chanyeol's lip and sucked, hummed at the sound of his whining. When Minseok let go, he pulled back to push in, watching Chanyeol's being flare like embers in wind. All Minseok wanted to do was make the firebird go up in flames, with a heart of ice at his core.

“Yes,” he purred, rocking his hips in an even, steady rhythm. “It does.” Chanyeol laughed up at him, moaned distractedly at Joonmyeon's hand on his neck, sliding up to grip him by the hair, pulling his head to rest on his thigh. “Looks like someone else wants to feel good, too.”

Joonmeon wrapped his other hand in Minseok's hair and pulled him up to be opposite Chanyeol, on either side of his cock. “Then get to it,” he said, scratching nails over their scalps and watching them both with the haughty eyes of a princeling. Joonmyeon was royalty by blood, but he'd chosen to go with Kyungsoo, instead of staying in the safety of the Capital, where he would be doomed to monotonous lessons and frivolous people tittering about fashions or scandalous gossip. No, he had known then that he would rather be here, putting his gift to some use, no matter the consequences: and what incredible consequences there had been.

And as his cock was worked by one hot mouth, one cool, he was reassured once again that he'd made the right decision. Minseok's loyalty was fierce and hard-won: Joonmyeon had found him in the ice, demanded his release from interrogation, had bested him in sparring despite being younger. Winner's rights meant Joonmyeon could fuck Minseok hard and merciless, but he'd never been merciless. It took many nights of slow, sensual sex before Minseok was truly willing to submit to him, to become his partner. And Chanyeol's affection could be just as hard to keep, once earned.

Chanyeol started to pant, to claw at the floor with one hand while Minseok's rhythm began to falter. They always came together, the mismatched pair that they were. Joonmyeon could see the orgasm coursing through Chanyeol, who heaved up from the floor with something close to a scream. At the same time Minseok drove downward and pressed his forehead to the hot chest, and the entire room went up in flames, immediately dissipated into steam, then little drizzles of mist.

And with a smirk, Joonmyeon jerked himself to completion on Chanyeol's mouth and chin-- a mess that Minseok was eager to help him clean with tongue and lips. Joonmyeon sighed with a glance to the bare window.

“Stop setting the curtains on fire, you two.”

“Mmm...” Chanyeol whined, moaned when Minseok gave him another thrust, slow and deep. “Mm. Sorry.”

“No we're not,” Minseok replied, leaning down to bite around one of Chanyeol's nipples until the man squeaked and twisted, trying to wiggle away, squeezing and tensing in ways that just made Minseok more reluctant to let go. “Stop that,” he warned, slapping the outside of one thigh. “Else I'll fuck you with something less forgiving.”

“Promise?” Chanyeol asked, grinning and relaxing. “Later. I'm tired.”

“Shut up, both of you,” Joonmyeon said, giving them both a _thwack_ to the back of the head. “Get comfortable. Get some sleep. We're leaving with Kyungsoo in the morning and if you rascals keep me awake there will be hell to pay, do you understand?”

“Yes,” Chanyeol said, peering up at him through his eyelashes. Minseok rolled his eyes, but nodded, and Joonmyeon bent to kiss Chanyeol's forehead, Minseok's ear.

“Thank you.” He watched with approving eyes as the two got up, washed briefly at the basins near the fire before climbing into the bed on the floor that they shared in this place. Back in the capital, all three of them had their own rooms in a suite; but accommodations were not quite so rich while chasing ghosts.

“Joonmyeon?” Chanyeol asked, and he moved to the bed, climbing in behind the tallest of them, kissing the back of his neck.

“Sleep.”

“But what if--”

“Shh.”

“But--”

“Hush,” he said, with one more kiss. It always took one more kiss, with Chanyeol. Just one more.

~

The next morning, Chanyeol gave his one more kiss to Minseok, smiling against his mouth and running fiery fingers through his hair. “We'll be back soon,” he chirped, though Joonmyeon was not so sure. Kyungsoo's raiding party was made up of elites, though the mageling they were chasing had proven to be more than any of his troops had been able to handle so far.

Yixing was to go with them. Jongdae did not appear to see them off, but Kyungsoo didn't expect him to. Not while he was involved with his new acquisition. Minseok was holding his lover's hands, pressing his face against them. Kyungsoo knew he was cross about being left behind but it was better to leave two offensives than it was to just leave one.

Baekhyun was there.

Baekhyun was there in his simple robe and bare feet. His hair was still damp with his bath and he was holding the reins of Kyungsoo's war horse in one small hand, the other rubbing her nose. He looked up at his General with more worry than he was usually willing to show outside the privacy of their bedroom. Kyungsoo felt a tinge of guilt and something much more roiling, something that made his belly turn into knots like it had every time he had to leave his favored slave for any reason.

“Please come back to me,” Baekhyun whispered, when Kyungsoo reached to take the reins from him. Something small was slipped into his hands. Kyungsoo pressed a chaste kiss to his forehead.

“I will,” Kyungsoo promised, turning to Joonmyeon. “We're off, then.” Jerking on the reins, Kyungsoo led Joonmyeon, Chanyeol, Yixing, and a few others out into the world outside the compound. He refused to allow himself the luxury of looking back, even as Chanyeol waved erratically, grinning like a fool. He supposed that at least one of them had to be in love with life: had to hope that they would come back unharmed, unruined.

~

“Everything is going according to plan, sire?”

“Of course it is,” he hummed, sitting back in his chair, grinning into the seeing-space and waving the mage off. The man was dragged away by his chains and heard only a little of the conversation.

“He'll bring them all to me, of course. And when he does, I'll make sure they're out of the way. Permanently.”

The mage held his breath and let himself be shoved into his tiny, windowless quarters. He hadn't seen his brother in the seeing-space. Zitao was still safe. The King did not know.

~


	7. (seven)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter contains mention of explicit non-consensual sex/rape and graphic depictions of violence.

 For the first few days, nothing happened. For the first few days. Minseok sulked and drank heavily, locking himself inside his room while Jongdae was with Hakyeon, and Baekhyun found himself alone more often than not, holding the large pink pearl Kyungsoo had given him before he left.

Baekhyun was terrified that Kyungsoo wouldn't return.

A part of himself knew that might be for the best-- he could go home. But why go home to a country, to a father, that had traded him for dead bodies? Perhaps Kyungsoo's duality was difficult to deal with, but as a prince Baekhyun could understand. It was the line between friend and fellow soldier, it was the distance between love and necessity and he considered himself lucky to be able to straddle it so well. He'd always been good at politics and intrigue.

Still.

He reclined nude in his hammock, in the small room attached to Kyungsoos. He hardly ever slept there, unless Kyungsoo was feeling particularly cross. It always felt like a reward when Kyungsoo told him that he could sleep in the bed, near the warm fireplace, wrapped up tight in blankets and cuddled back into an equally warm body.

He blushed at the thought of that body. Kyungsoo was small and powerful, not only by his gift but his own hard work. He was strong and forceful, but his hands could be so tender.

Baekhyun reached to set the pearl down on his dresser and wiggled down in the hammock, feeling it sway under his shifting. He dropped his knees to the edges and let his legs hang over while his hands smoothed over his chest and belly, fingertips rubbing his nipples firm while he bit his lip.

His hands were not like Kyungsoos. But Kyungsoo liked to watch him, sometimes: watch him claw lightly at his hips and squeeze the flesh of his thighs before gripping his cock.

He let out a breathy sigh, closed his eyes. It was easy to imagine Kyungsoo there: he never said anything, while he watched. Baekhyun gripped his shaft and tugged gently, glad for the way the hammock cupped around his back and shoulders. One hand moved between his legs and he whimpered, fingers cupping his small sac. Kyungsoo had been merciful in choosing to have him half-cut. But Baekhyun wasn't really mating material. He was tiny, thin and delicate, though his muscles were wiry and strong.

“Aah,” he breathed, letting his head tip to one side, stroking himself slow, pushing his hips up into his own tight grip. His other hand went to his mouth where his tongue wet his fingers. “Ah,” he shivered, spreading his thighs and pushing his hand between his legs to touch himself, the tight clench Kyungsoo would fuck open, mouth open if he was feeling very kind. He pushed his finger inside of himself and arched up, biting into his lip.

His first time with Kyungsoo had been brutal. A week after his cut, Kyungsoo had come to Yixing's rooms and dragged Baekhyun to his bed by the hair. He'd been forceful, almost cruel. He'd dominated Baekhyun so completely that the smaller man had spent the night crying, afraid to move, afraid to breathe. And when he'd come to Baekhyun the next night, Baekhyun had been expecting that same cruelty.

But Kyungsoo had been-- and most of the time, still was-- a gentle and passionate lover. Despite how much he enjoyed putting Baekhyun down with words, jerking him around and pretending meanness, Baekhyun hadn't been truly hurt since that first night. Kyungsoo always prepared him, always fucked him deep and kissed his neck, made sure he finished and even if he was not so kind outside of the bedroom they shared, Baekhyun was satisfied to know that only he saw Kyungsoo so vulnerable. Only he was allowed to sleep beside him, to kiss him into dreams. Only he could moan when Kyungsoo pushed inside of him when he was just barely awake, kissing the back of his neck and murmuring quiet affections that would never know the full volume of his voice.

Baekhun shivered, squeezing himself tightly and pressing up into his own fist, two fingers teasing just inside himself, just wet enough for it to sting, but not burn. He remembered Kyungsoo's mouth on his, the morning he'd left. The passionate fucking, the desperate, bruising grip on his hips and waist.

_you are mine, mine, do you understand, no one else will touch you, never, you're mine, i'll kill anyone who touches you, i'll kill them._

After so many years in Kyungsoo's bed, Baekhyun knew it was as close as Kyungsoo could come to saying that he loved him. At first, he'd been so sure Kyungsoo thought he was property, thought he was an object to be passed between men. But the first time someone reached out a hand to grab him, at a get-together for the upper echelon of the military, Kyungsoo had nearly slit his throat.

That was the first and only time Kyungsoo had admitted love. He'd fucked Baekhyun behind a locked door and whispered the words into his ear, so soft Baekhyun had been sure he'd imagined them.

_i love you. no one else will ever touch you. you're mine._

 

_yes._

Baekhyun groaned, hips jerking as he came up his belly, panting, squeezing himself until he was empty, trembling with chill between his sweat and the breeze from the window. After a moment of shivering, he pulled his legs up into the hammock and dragged his blanket up, reaching out to pick up his precious pearl, tucking it into his hand, close to his heart.

Kyungsoo would come home.

Kyungsoo would come home.

Kyungsoo would come back.

_please come back, lover._

_i need you._

The pearl tucked inside his palm glowed dimly.

~

Normally, Jongdae hated the days when he had to watch Baekhyun. He was... Submissive and quiet and didn't know what to do with himself without someone to please, so anxious and fidgeting that Jongdae usually had to banish him to a secondary room so as not to be distracted by his nervous energy.

But not that day.

That day, Baekhyun sat on the carpet and stared, almost delighted, up at the slave Jongdae had claimed as his own only two weeks ago as he told a story, moving his arms and hands, speaking with eloquence despite the way he was lying back against a few large pillows.

Hakyeon had... Adjusted well, all things considered. He hated being touched. He was deathly afraid of leaving the room and of Taemin, who occasionally peered in through the door just to make him uncomfortable. He did not appear to trust Jongdae, but he let the man take care of him and it seemed he was unbothered by Baekhyun, who had quietly made himself comfortable near him before shyly asking questions, curious and clearly desperate to talk to someone. Jongdae was a fiercely private person; talking with people he didn't like wasn't exactly his forte.

But Baekhyun was enchanted with everything about Hakyeon, from his skin to his accent to the patterns of his caste-scarring. Jongdae thought that Hakyeon must have dealt with children for much of his life, because he didn't bat an eyelash through the questions, answered them quietly and concisely. And Baekhyun, like the child he was, laid quietly and listened, watched with his wide, bright eyes.

“And it-- I mean, you fight, but it's like dancing? How?”

“Well,” Hakyeon said, sitting up a bit. Jongdae watched from his desk, where he was working through the paperwork dealing with the hunt for the mageling: news he was careful to keep from Hakyeon, lest he upset him. “We have fans. They're made of blades, very thin blades, and they're very sharp. It's... Skill. To use something so dangerous to create beauty.”

“Ooh,” Baekhyun nodded, his tone one of not-quite-understanding. Jongdae listened in wonder as Hakyeon laughed. It was hardly a laugh-- a breath let out through a smile. But it was more than he'd given since Jongdae had brought him up to the safety of his quarters to recover.

“Maybe I'll show you, someday.”

By the end of the day, Baekhyun had decided that he would bring his lap-harp the next time he came, so he could play songs, and maybe watch Hakyeon dance, even if he didn't have his blade-fans. “I bet it's beautiful anyway,” he chirped in his sweet voice, nodding definitively.

And when Minseok came to take Baekhyun, the man was lying half on Hakyeon's lap like an enraptured girl, listening to him talk about tree-houses and beasts whose leather was spotted. Baekhyun pouted, got up only with much prompting and after kissing the palm of Hakyeon's hand. Hakyeon smiled a little and Baekhyun nearly glowed, waving goodbye as Minseok, half-intoxicated, dragged him out to bring him back to Kyungsoo's quarters.

When the door closed behind him, Hakyeon sank into the pillows and closed his eyes.

“Too much for you,” Jongdae asked, moving to sit near him on the floor, chuckling at the exhausted nod. “He has that effect on people. How are you feeling,” he said, with care. “Any better than yesterday?” Hakyeon shook his head, his eyes still closed, his breathing shivering in and out of his lungs.

“Is there anything I can do?”

“No,” Hakyeon said, and Jongdae frowned to see tears on his cheeks. It seemed that Hakyeon did little else other than read or cry. It was like Baekhyun when he'd first arrived: all he did was stare off into the distance or look up at Kyungsoo, since he was always on his knees in the man's presence.

“...Don't torture yourself like this,” Jongdae said. Hakyeon opened his eyes, and Jongdae kept speaking. “He made a choice. Regardless of whether or not it was right, you are here, and he is gone. Do not let him plague your thoughts.”

“Doesn't he plague your thoughts?” Hakyeon asked, looking at Jongdae with the hard eyes of a man with nothing. “The man who tossed you aside, who didn't keep you for love?”

“No,” Jongdae said simply. “All I remember of him is the smell of his crisping flesh.”

“You killed him.”

“Yes.”

Hakyeon closed his eyes and Jongdae sat back. For a few long minutes there was silence between them, as there had been for the entire time Hakyeon had been there.

“Did that make it stop hurting?” Hakyeon finally asked. Jongdae pursed his lips.

“...For a moment.”

Hakyeon nodded. Jongdae shifted closer as he had in days before, urging the man to lean his head onto his shoulder, smoothing his hair with one careful hand. In silence, he did his best to comfort the man beside him, wondering if Hakyeon was thinking about killing Wonsik: about stabbing a knife through his belly, about slitting his throat or just thrusting a knife into the man's forearm and dragging it down between his bones before shoving it through his hand.

But in truth, Hakyeon was not wondering much of anything at all, except his own confusion. His head rested against a heartbeat that had, a few weeks before, belonged to a man who was torturing him. But that same man now sat beside him, cradled him, attempted to soothe him. He was confused, and afraid, and while he didn't... Want to stop thinking about Wonsik, he knew that would be best. But he couldn't bring himself to focus on Jongdae. Not yet.

Not yet.

The grey clouds hung fat with rain.

~

“Get in there,” Minseok growled, shoving Baekhyun into the room, rather enjoying the way the simpering whore fell to the stone. “Get up. Go.” He grabbed his wrist and started to drag him towards the smaller quarters where Baekhyun slept.

“Let go,” Baekhyun said, tugging on his arm, getting up in a crouch and pulling. “Let go! I can walk there myself, you're hurting me, Minseok--”

“Hurting you?” Minseok's face was twisted with anger and distress as he yanked Baekhyun to his feet only to shove him into the dresser. “I will show you hurt,” he snarled. “I will show you pain, whore, like you've never seen.”

“Minseok, no, stop--”

Baekhyun's head snapped back into the wall and he pushed his hands on Minseok's chest, his vision blurry. “Minseok. Minseok stop, stop, please, I know it hurts but please don't do this--”

“You know?” Minseok hissed, grabbing the small man by the hair and yanking. “You know. Do you know, whore? What do you know.”

“I know you miss them,” Baekhyun said, breathing through his teeth and clenching his eyes closed. “I know! Please, you don't-- you don't have to hurt by yourself, Minseok, please--”

“I am not some woman, desperate for a man's attention!”

“No,” Baekhyun said, opening his eyes and cupping Minseoks neck, staring at him. He was so afraid, but more he was full of pity. Minseok... Had lost his first love young. Baekhyun knew little of it, only what he managed to gather from his drunken fits, which had been so few and far between after Joonmyeon, and especially after Chanyeol. Minseok had been left behind in the ice, abandoned in the snow of the western mountains before Kyungsoo's scouts-- Joonmyeon-- had found him. “No, no of course not, Minseok, but please, please don't do this. Please. Let me help you.”

Minseok's face changed. The ice around his eyes began to melt, the frosty blue of his lips turned soft pink and he let go of Baekhyun, stumbling back a step.

“Minseok, please. Please?” Baekhyun reached for his cold hand and held it. He wasn't Chanyeol, he was not so warm, but Minseok let out a sob anyway, dropped to his knees and made wretched, pitiful sounds into the emptiness of the bedroom. Baekhyun knelt in front of him, reached to hold him in a careful embrace. “They'll come back, Minseok. They'll come back.”

“What if they don't,” he whispered, between heaving sobs. “What if they never come back, I've lost them, I've lost them, they'll never come home and I'll be back in the snow, in the ice--”

“No,” Baekhyun cooed, frantic to soothe the dangerous man, to ease the pain in his heart that had been building, poisoning him for the last two weeks of his drunken binge. “No, Minseok, you won't go back there, they'll come home, I know they will.”

“I'm cold,” Minseok whispered, and Baekhyun felt his heart shatter. “I'm so cold.”

“Come on,” he said, swallowing hard. “Come on, we'll sleep near the fire, I'll get it roaring in a minute, all right? Come on,” he tugged gently at his arms, leading Minseok to the large stone fire pit. The embers were still red, and he pushed a few logs in, gathering up the blankets while the smoke made it's way out through the hood of leather, the cuts in the stone. “Come lay down with me.”

For a moment, Baekhyun rather thought that Minseok looked like the child he so often accused Chanyeol of being. He looked small and helpless, shivering with cold as he made his way into the blankets, burying himself. Baekhyun tucked himself behind him, rested his head against wet hair.

“They'll come home,” he whispered, squeezing his eyes closed when Minseok squeezed his hand. “All of them will come home. Joonmyeon, and Chanyeol and Yixing, and—” his voice cut off with a hard swallow. “And Kyungsoo. Everyone will come home, Minseok. And you'll be warm, and it'll be all right.

You'll be warm. It'll be all right.”

~

 


	8. (eight)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter contains graphic sex, depictions of gore, and genderbent (sort of) chanyeol.

Chanyeol sneezed, blinking and rubbing at his nose. The tent was uncomfortably small, and there was a rock digging into his back, but it hurt worse when he was on his belly, so he stayed where he was. Joonmyeon had been very quiet for the last few days. He hadn't really talked to Chanyeol, which made him feel lonely, and he was even asleep at that moment, despite Chanyeol's obvious worries.

With a huff, Chanyeol crawled out of the tent, out into the sandy grassland they were camped in. Everything was nothing but dirt and grass for miles and miles and with a scowl he stalked out into the... More sandy part, clenching his hands and then opening them, letting himself be engulfed in flames. He was hot. Too hot. He missed Minseok. Missed his cute face and his strong hands and his cool mouth. Joonmyeon hadn't so much as _looked_ at Chanyeol since they'd left, and it was starting to strain on his nerves.

“That's quite the show,” Yixing said, and Chanyeol turned to face him. Yixing was smiling serenely, wearing his white and brown clothes, looking disgustingly beautiful despite the horrid conditions the rest of them were in. It wasn't fair, that he was still so pretty and flawless.

In a moment of absolutely unnecessary rage, Chanyeol let himself flare up and the flames ripped at Yixing's hands and face, though the wounds were healed almost without being true wounds in the first place.

“Stop that,” Yixing chided, walking closer. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing,” Chanyeol sulked, kicking at the sand.

“You're a terrible liar, you know.”

“M'not lying,” he insisted. Yixing's laugh was like a crystal bell ringing.

“Of course you're not,” he said, motioning Chanyeol over. “Come here. Come sit with me. What's wrong.”

“...I miss Minseok,” Chanyeol pouted, hugging his knees while Yixing hugged his shoulders. “I don't understand why we're chasing this stupid-- Maekling or whatever, I want to go home to the Capital. I miss my birds and my bed and...” he trailed off, pursing his mouth. “Joonmyeon won't look at me. I think I did something wrong. I don't know what it was but I did something wrong and at least if Minseok was here he could tell me what I did so I could apologize.”

“Oh, oh shh, shh,” Yixing assured, kissing Chanyeol's forehead. His mouth was cool, but it was not as cool as Minseoks, and it just made Chanyeol miss him more, squeezing his eyes closed as his tears evaporated into steam. “Shh, little bird. You'll be home with him soon enough. Once this is over, we... We'll all be able to go home.”

Chanyeol felt a swell of guilt. Yixing's lover, a tall man with a severe face and strong arms, had been left behind in the capital. He didn't have any legs, anymore. He lost them in a battle. Yixing had been able to save the rest of him, though only barely. “I'm sorry,” he said, sniffling, steam rising from his face. “I'm sorry, I'm such a baby. I know you miss Yifan, I'm sorry, it's--”

“You can feel sad about missing Minseok, Chanyeol,” Yixing said, pressing his cheek to the man's hair. “It's all right to miss him. I miss Yifan too, yes, but... I know I'll go home to him. You know you'll go home to Minseok, don't you?”

“...Yes,” he said slowly. “Yes. I'll... I'll see him soon. I'll go home and we can go home together.”

“Yes,” Yixing assured, smiling. “Yes, you will.”

In his heart, Yixing felt his own hope fall. He was not so sure they would all survive this, not so sure they would all be able to go home to partners who were waiting for them. But as long as he had hope, it would be all right. Hope was all that held him together: without it, he would break apart.

~

“They're gaining on us,” Jaehwan said, shaking his head violently. “Should I release the Hunt?”

“No,” Taekwoon replied. “No. I think they will be reasoned with.”

“Reasoned with?! They've tried to kill us for months--”

“If they're this close it means they've got Hakyeon,” he said, and his partner fell silent. “It is best for him, and for us, that we attempt to negotiate. There are more of them than us. And they brought the firebird with them. The Hunt will burn before it reaches them.”

“Only if he knows what he's doing,” the other sulked. “Which he clearly _doesn't_.”

“The fact remains,” Taekwoon said, closing the seeing-space. “If Hakyeon is alive, I would prefer that he remain so. He's your friend too, Jaehwan.”

“...Yes,” Jaehwan said, before growling in frustrating and scraping one antler against a thick oak tree. “Yes, I _know._ But there's no guarantee that he's not already dead, Taekwoon, we've no way of telling--”

“He's alive,” Taekwoon said, pulling his long cape over his body.

“How do you know?”

“If he were dead,” Taekwoon replied. “The sun would stop rising.”

“I think that's a bit far-fetched.”

“Is it?” Taekwoon asked, looking up into the trees.

~

Joonmyeon scowled at the ground, as though he could intimidate it into telling him it's secrets. The Mage's trail just... Ended. Disappeared. There was nothing except the tracks of a herd of deer. Kyungsoo was watching him, and Joonmyeon snarled.

“It's like he just disappeared into thin air,” he said, raking a hand through his hair. “Even for a Mageling, some things are just not possible.”

“In that case, we'll camp here,” Kyungsoo said, waving one hand to his troops. “Perhaps morning will shed better light.”

“I'm sorry,” Joonmyeon said, under the bustle of tents being pulled free from packs and horses stomping. Kyungsoo reached down to grip his shoulders.

“You've done well to get us so far without casualties. The trail will reveal itself. Most likely when we are not looking for it. Go comfort your lover,” his eyes shifted to Chanyeol, who was yanking his tent out. “He grows more dangerous by the day.”

“I'm working,” Joonmyeon protested.

“I care not,” Kyungsoo replied. “If he burns the camp down around us, I will hold you responsible. Do you understand?”

Joonmyeon gritted his teeth and nodded. He supposed that yes, his compartmentalizing was hurting Chanyeol, who was so used to being cared for, loved, back home. And without Minseok to fill in the space, it should have been Joonmyeon's pleasure as a lover to help Chanyeol feel stable, loved and safe. He'd been shirking that responsibility.

Feeling somewhat guilty, he walked to where Chanyeol was struggling with the tent and took the canvas away from him, looking up at the taller man, who staggered back a bit, clearly nervous. Joonmyeon felt his chest tighten. Chanyeol hadn't felt truly uncomfortable since Joonmyeon had pleased him that first time: the jerking away was something he would have done then, shouldn't have been doing now.

“Let me help,” he said, moving to set up the tent himself while Chanyeol watched, biting his lip.

“Are you mad at me,” he asked, holding the pole Joonmyeon had pushed in his direction. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” Joonmyeon said, taking a deep breath. “No, you didn't do anything wrong. Come on. Lets get some sleep, mm?”

“But,” he said, before closing his mouth and nodding, climbing into the tent to lay down the blankets and get free of his clothes. He couldn't sleep with clothes on. When he was nude, on top of the sheets, Joonmyeon got in beside him, tied the flaps shut and laid out, stripping away his own clothes. Chanyeol stared at him: he always stared.

Joonmyeon knew his ritual scarring was fascinating to look at. It was a tradition of his mother's people and he'd insisted on having it done: the clean, white scars of waves and water down his arms and across the top of his chest. They were more visible, when he was tanned: and he seemed to be tanned all the time, since Chanyeol had come burning into his life, his own small sun.

“I'm sorry I've been... Quiet,” he said, leaning onto his elbow, laying on his side next to his tall companion. “But it's not because you've done anything wrong. I've just been... Very focused.”

“Oh,” Chanyeol said, pursing his lips. “Am I distracting you?”

“Right now?” Joonmyeon asked with a tender laugh. “With you laid out beside me like a delicious treat? Yes, you're distracting me.” The tension in Joonmyeon's shoulders disappeared when Chanyeol laughed, reached to wrap his arms around Joonmyeon's shoulders.

“Can I keep distracting you?”

“Of course,” he said, bending his head to lick one soft nipple. He'd hoped, when they'd first come upon Chanyeol, that he was capable of bearing children. But he had no moon-bleed, despite his body, and Joonmyeon accepted that. Still. Sometimes it was nice to treat Chanyeol as a lover, when Minseok so insisted on treating him like a rival.

“Ah,” Chanyeol whispered, tipping his head back, arching up. “Aah, Joonmyeon--”

“Shh,” he murmured, leaning to suckle at the other nipple, one hand sliding down Chanyeol's bare tummy. “Shh, you have to be quiet, unless you want the others to hear.”

Chanyeol shook his head and bit his lip, squirmed and gasped when Joonmyeon's hand started to weasel in between his closed legs. “But--” he whispered, flushing pink. Joonmyeon licked at his chest, bit the little swell of his areola and kept moving his hand until Chanyeol spread his legs. It had been like this the first time, too-- Chanyeol clinging to Joonmyeon, rolling his hips and whimpering into his mouth. “Mm--”

“Shhh,” he whispered, pushing one finger inside. So hot, Chanyeol was so _< i>hot.</i> _“Shh, you can't let anyone hear you.”

“'But,” he whispered, clutching Joonmyeon's shoulder, breathing against his lips. “It feels good--”

“I know,” Joonmyeon whispered. “It feels good for me, too.”

~

Yixing hummed in approval at the muffled little whine from the tent Joonmyeon and Chanyeol were sharing. He met Kyungsoo's eyes over the fire, and nodded, amused. Kyungsoo smiled back at him, though only barely. Despite what he might have said, Yixing knew Kyungsoo was missing Baekhyun. It had been nearly three weeks. And while the mage could be around any corner, all Yixing could register was the anxious energy coming from their leader. Knowing that Kyungsoo felt lost in memory made Yixing feel a little better about remembering.

Kyungsoo would have been able to bring his lover on this excursion, even if Baekhyun had been left back at the compound for now. Yixing's lover could not come. He would not have, even if he was able. After the loss of his legs he'd grown bitter and mistrustful of the King and his intentions. He'd scoffed that Yixing was going with Kyungsoo at all.

_He's called the Butcher for a reason, lover. I do not think it wise to associate yourself with someone so willfully opposed to everything you stand for, whether or not he saved your life._ But he'd come to see Yixing off, in a sense: he'd been waiting in the smithy, sitting on his bench, his crutches off to one side as he offered his arms to Yixing. _You must come back to me,_ he'd said, his face pressed to Yixing's chest, turned to rest his ear against his heartbeat. _I am always lost without you._

_I will. I will, I promise._

Thinking of Yifan gave Yixing a headache. The lack of his presence distressed him, as it always had. Most of the time, he credited it to how he'd almost lost him-- pushed himself to the brink of death to end his bleeding, to keep him alive when he was unwilling to let go of him, legless or not. When Yifan had heaved back into consciousness and caught Yixing, slipping away, his eyes white and bloody. That had been the moment Yixing knew he was in up to his neck and there was no turning back from everything they were to one another, whether or not it had been spoken. But somehow the memory seemed more distressing, out underneath the moon and the stars. He felt it closer than he had since it had happened, Yifan's blood on his hands, his forearms and his wild face.

Distantly he heard Kyungsoo's shout of alarm, but he was slipping to the ground, barely remembering to catch himself before he fell into darkness, warm and patient and waiting.

~

“Don't you _dare_ ,” Yixing panted, ripping Yifan's armor open, throwing it aside as the battle moved down the field, more dead bodies in the wake of the army that had caught them by surprise and been decimated for it: Chanyeol's fire scorched across the ground, Jongdae's lightning lanced through the sky. “Don't you dare _leave me,_ Yifan, don't--”

“Stop,” Yifan jerked up and down, bleeding from the mouth. His teeth were stained red, his eyes bruised and a pair of arrows buried in his gut. “Stop, Yi-- Yixing, stop, it's over--”

“ _No,_ ” Yixing shrieked, his clawed fingers finding the ruined pulp of flesh where Yifan's legs used to be. He threw up, hysterically sobbing, choking himself before heaving again and putting his hands on Yifan's thighs. Or what remained of them. Shredded flesh and bleeding muscle, broken bone. “No, no I can fix it, I can fix it, I can save you--”

“Yixing,” Yifan's voice was so calm. So soft, and Yixing turned to look up at him, eyes wet. Yifan's face was blurry, his gummy smile a smear of red. “Yixing. Stop.”

“No,” he cried, chest jumping. “I can save you. Let me save you. Please, Yifan--”

Yifan's head dropped back. His grip on Yixing's arm loosened and someone pulled Yixing by the shirt, trying to separate him and he screamed, he screamed and swung his blade back, heaving like an animal, eyes wild and white.

“Get _away,_ ” he shrieked, jerking back to Yifan and putting his hands on his chest. He pushed everything into him, his entire being, all the power he could find. Yixing found reserves he'd always been warned not to tap into, because too much use and they would kill him.

It didn't matter if he died, if Yifan was dead. What was there to live for when Yifan was gone?

Nothing.

There was nothing.

No heartbeat. No breath.

“No, no Yifan don't, don't give up, stay with me, please--” Sobbing, choking and shaking Yixing screamed and cried, threw Zitao away from him when the man tried to bring him away. “No!!” he screeched, hands clawed into Yifan's chest. “No, no just a little more, I can save him, I can-- Let me save him--”

_oh gods, let me save him._

Yixing felt his entire being come apart in a flash of light. He couldn't see. There were tears down his cheeks, blood in his mouth, nose and ears.

But Yifan's heart was beating, soft though it was, and that was all that mattered.

Yifan's heart was beating, and his hands were catching Yixing, holding him steady. And Yixing wept, pressing his ear to his chest to listen to the thump, thump, thump that meant Yifan was still there with him. He wanted to live in the moment forever.

He wanted to feel Yifan's breath on his neck, to watch the bone in his thighs close around themselves, watch the muscle weave together, watch the skin come together in smooth, delicately scarred perfection.

“Such a pretty scene,” said a soft voice off to Yixing's left. “You saved him. He was meant to go then, you know. He's living on time you stole for him.”

“What?” Yixing blinked, jerked back from the man standing in front of him. He had dark hair and foxish eyes. “Who are you? What--” The scene around him was gone. The battlefield, Yifan's body, the remains of his legs. “...What is this,” he asked, feeling like he was floating, not quite there.

“This is a dream,” the man said. Yixing stared at him. “But you can't wake up yet. I'm sorry. I just wanted to let you get situated. He's very handsome, your lover.”

Despite himself, Yixing bristled. The man smiled.

“Aah, don't look like that. He's safe, as you are. I've other things to... Contend with. But I'll be back.”

“Who are--”

But the man was gone, leaving only the impression of a white mask, painted with sly red eyes.

~


	9. (nine)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter contains graphic depictions of sex, gore and violence. and genderbent (sort of) chanyeol.

 Sehoon watched the wind whip at the treeline in the distance. With nervous energy he seemed to walk on air to Zitao, sitting at his desk, writing far more than seemed possible in such a short amount of time.

“What are you writing,” he asked, resting his neck over Zitao's head. His lover chuckled.

“A report, clearly,” he replied, sounding distant.

“What for,” Sehoon asked, looking down at the flowing script. “Kyungsoo will just report it all when we get back to the capital.”

“For my own memory, then,” he said, pushing away his pen, the stack of paper. “Come, lover. It's time to sleep.”

“Of course.” Sehoon smiled.

And smiled, and smiled, and Zitao watched him for an eternity of seconds. He memorized every strand of hair, every imperfection of his skin, the lines of his knuckles. He stared as long as he was able, as long as he could withstand before Sehoon's smile melted into something much more sensual.

“Of course.” A tickle of wind ruffled Zitao's robes and he laughed, reaching to unbuckle the clasp at his chest. “You wear such impractical things,” Sehoon complained.

“Unfortunately necessary,” he replied, letting the robe drop away to expose his warm gold skin. “Come, though. Let me love you down.”

“I think I'll love you tonight, Master Advisor to the General,” Sehoon said, bulling Zitao onto their makeshift bed. It wasn't as nice as their bed back home. “You work far too hard for far too long these days.”

“You have no idea,” Zitao smiled against Sehoon's lips, but said nothing else.

The struggle to keep the room holding still in time was starting to wear on him.

~

Jongdae watched the storm come in with serenity. He stood on the balcony and lifted his face into the rain, felt the roil of storm like his own bloodflow, lightning like his breath. He felt most at home there, always. Even as a child, even as a teenage rat-catcher he'd lived for the storm and all it brought. The flash of light, the crack of thunder, the darkness covering the sun.

The lightning on his skin felt like what he'd always imagined a _real_ lover would feel like. Chanyeol once tried to explain-- in a misguided attempt to get closer to Jongdae, who fascinated him-- what being a lover was like. He tried to explain keeping Minseok warm, evaporating away Joonmyeon's water into mist like comfort, a fog that blanketed the floors of their rooms. Jongdae couldn't relate. He'd only had one lover, if he could have been called that. A lord. And when the man had risen his hand to strike Jongdae, to call him whore and throw him from his bed while another warmed it, Jongdae had let his power, something he was deathly afraid of, rip through him like scissors through cloth. He'd killed the woman as well. He couldn't make himself feel guilty.

That was where Kyungsoo had found him. In a prison, dead-eyed and grinning, taking pleasure in zapping the men through the tiny wooden slat where they passed his food into the stone room. He'd taken him out, breathed promises of control and safety into his ear that Jongdae couldn't help but fall to. The Butcher was a dangerous man, who surrounded himself with other dangerous men: in Jongdae's eyes, there was no safer place to be.

For a while, Jongdae was at his front lines. He was deadly in crowds, excellent at hiding himself before throwing out his gift to knock entire mobs out of commission but Jongdae's one love was torture: being able to touch people with complete control, to pull information from them using thought and manipulation: like one would shove stones down the holes of a warren to push all the rabbits out into a net. And Kyungsoo encouraged him, rewarded him when information was obtained with goods or whores or whatever it was he desired at the time.

And then Taemin had come. Taemin, with his partner Jongin. The two of them were better than Jongdae could ever be, because even in his line of work there were lines he would not cross. There were things he would not do because they were truly wicked, because they were low and cruel. Jongdae was many things, but rapist was not among them.

_It's not rape if they enjoy it,_ Taemin had once said, cornering Jongdae after a confrontation, bullying him against the wall. _And they do so enjoy it, little storm. Perhaps you'd like a taste?_ He'd leaned in to force his mouth to Jongdae's and the lightning had let loose from between Jongdae's teeth into Taemin's open mouth.

When he fell to the ground, Jongdae stepped over his body and towards the exit. Jongin had watched him in wonder and fear and Jongdae felt control, again. He felt strong.

The lightning cracked against his cheek, kissed his neck. It felt wonderful-- but that was all it felt. It was not what it had always been before. Still lovely but somehow muted. He thought of Hakyeon, with his dark skin and his thin hands, asleep in his rooms downstairs. Jongdae wondered when he'd come to missing the presence of the sun, more than the storm; he wondered when he'd started wishing that the grey of the sky would turn blue.

~

Joonmyeon smiled, kissing Chanyeol's panting mouth. The tall man laughed and threw his leg over Joonmyeon's hip, licking at his lips and still rocking his hips in afterglow. “Are you sure you don't want...” he paused, blushing.

“I'm sure,” he replied, kissing him sweet and slow, easing his fingers out of the taller man. He bent to suck lightly at one nipple, something Chanyeol found comforting. “It was just for you.” For a few moments there was silence: just Chanyeol's breathing, just the sound of Joonmyeon's gentle suck. It had struck Joonmyeon as strange, the first time Chanyeol asked him to suckle after sex. Minseok never bothered, but Joonmyeon was happy to please his young lover, sucked at each nipple until they were tender and raw.

“Joonmyeon,” Chanyeol squirmed, biting his lip and pushing his chest towards his older lover. “Please? I know you don't like to but I--” Joonmyeon shushed him, easing him onto his back. Minseok always called Chanyeol a girl, but Joonmyeon treated him like one, which he seemed to appreciate more.

“Shh,” Joonmyeon said, kissing his way down Chanyeol's long body, parting his legs, laying him out on his back. “You have to be quiet, remember?”

“Yes,” he whispered, gasping and putting a hand over his mouth when Joonmyeon's tongue slipped between his folds, pressing into wetness before licking up to rub at more sensitive places. “No, no inside, inside, Joon--”

“Shh,” he chided, licking up, one hand between his legs to stroke himself, to pull his foreskin down. He rubbed his tip against Chanyeol's wetness until he was whimpering, his thighs shaking. “Shhh...” he started to push, amazed as always at how easy the slide was, how much Chanyeol wanted him. Other men in ranks talked about how tight their women always were. Joonmyeon had grown up around his mother's serving-girls and he knew that wasn't a good thing, a woman being tight. If a woman was truly enjoying herself, she would be wet and loose and ready. Or, that was what Jinah had always said. He was inclined to believe her, when he looked down at Chanyeol and saw him straining upward, lip bitten, grinning and clutching the blankets in his hands.

Joonmyeon got settled between Chanyeol's legs and pushed them up to either side of his own hips, getting down onto his elbows to rest his body against his lovers. Chanyeol mewled and moaned gently into his mouth when he kicked his hips forward.

“Mm-- mm, yes, Joonmyeon, yes--”

“Quiet,” he reminded, sucking at Chanyeol's neck, pinning his wrists down and fucking into him slow, deep and hard. Chanyeol whimpered and tried to rock his hips, forcing himself to be quiet. He gasped hard once or twice, when Joonmyeon repositioned himself.

“Joonie,” he breathed, panting into Joonmyeon's hair as the older man sucked at his chest, dragged his teeth over pink, raw skin. “Oh, oh Joonie, I--”

Chanyeol had no control. He couldn't stop an orgasm even if he wanted to, and Joonmyeon bared his teeth at the tight clench and flutter, bucking his hips until he came, listening to Chanyeol pant obscenities into his ear.

“Yes yes yes joonie I want it I want you please just a little more just a little more fuck me fuck me ah--” He let out a low, long mewl of satisfaction when Joonmyeon came, panting, forehead to Chanyeol's solar plexus. Joonmyeon sat up, slowly. He pulled out and laid beside his taller lover, kissing his shoulder in the sounds of the wild that surrounded them.

“Joonmyeon?” Chanyeol asked after a while, in a tone that meant he was troubled. “Do you miss Minseok?”

“Of course I do,” Joonmyeon said, sitting up to look down at Chanyeol. Except that Chanyeol was Minseok, blue-lipped and frost-skinned as he had been when they'd pulled him free from the ice. He was so cold, and Joonmyeon jerked away, eyes wide in alarm.

“Do you miss him?” came Chanyeol's voice from Minseok's mouth, and Joonmyeon reached behind himself to find something-- anything-- to support himself against. Because Chanyeol was standing behind Minseok, the two of them were holding hands and smiling.

“Will you miss us?”

“What?” he asked, trembling.

“Will you miss us, when we're gone?”

“Gone, wh--” Joonmyeon shouted, threw himself backwards as pikes burst forth from their bodies: sternum, belly, kidney and heart. Minseok's blood slipped sky-blue and shimmering. He smiled at Joonmyeon, that same blood spilling from his mouth.

“We're going to leave,” he said, and Chanyeol laughed his wild laugh, spewing sunburst onto the ground.

“You can't come with us.”

“What?” Joonmyeon stared. This had to be a dream. This was a dream, a dream, this wasn't real--

_But it could be,_ came a whisper close to his ear. _You know that this is what awaits you, if you continue on the path. You've seen it. You are royalty: think like the king your Butcher so blindly follows._

“No,” Joonmyeon shook his head, stepping away from the blood oozing closer to him. “No, they-- Not Kyungsoo-- His Majesty wouldn't--”

_Wouldn't he?_

Chanyeol's blood touched his feet and he shouted in pain. Minseok's blood climbed his legs and Joonmyeon couldn't decide what was worse: the wrenching screams of Minseok being tortured for information he didn't have, or the subdued crying that was all Chanyeol could manage after his first and only round of interrogation.

~

It was rare for Kyungsoo to have dreams. He'd always been told that he was too grounded in the reality of the world to enjoy the respite that came with dreams. As a child, his only goal had been to have power. The power to help people, to unite them, to make them stronger. As a teenager he learned the terrible lesson that sometimes, people had to be ruined before they could be remade. Weakness could not be tolerated, not if one wanted to unite a people against a stronger front. A group was only as good as it's weakest men.

He clawed his way to the top of the military by being ruthless. By surrounding himself with powerful people, fiercely loyal to him.

First, Zitao: he'd bought the man from a foreign counsel. Erased his being and created a new one: Kyungsoo knew potential when he saw it, and Zitao's sharp eyes did not escape his notice. And while Kyungsoo ignored his general advice, his tactical strategies were well worth the price he'd paid for him. Sehoon-- the one he'd been sent after, at his King's command-- had followed naturally; the young man was helplessly in love with Zitao then, and the pattern followed through the present day. Kyungsoo had gained himself an excellent tactician, as well as the Wind.

He'd pulled Jongdae out of a prison. Glass-eyed and deadly he'd taken Kyungsoo at his word, and followed.

Yixing, he'd saved from certain death at the hands of one of his enemies. In exchange for the man's loyalty and gift he'd only begged for the life of his friend to be his, and so Kyungsoo had freed him. With Yifan at his side, Yixing had come willingly.

Joonmyeon had simply needed the offer of adventure, the break of monotony he suffered through. He had been the one to find Minseok, the one to insist to the head Inquisitor that the man knew nothing, had been trapped in the ice for who knew how long. He'd found Chanyeol, the firebird. He and Minseok had watched with dark eyes as Kyungsoo had his right with him, as was his right with all women. Chanyeol had cried a little, mostly out of fear, but Joonmyeon must have reassured him, because Chanyeol's loyalty was his, also.

Taemin was a wild card. But Jongin, the one with him, the Move, would be swayed. Kyungsoo knew this. It would be easy to turn Jongin's loyalty away from the loose cannon to himself. One could not have true loyalty when it was rooted in fear.

And Baekhyun...

Kyungsoo sometimes wasn't sure what to make of him. He'd thought him ungifted, merely a slave when he'd been given to him at sixteen. Kyungsoo had already been a brilliant warrior, always underestimated both in power and cruelty by men older than himself. And so he'd obtained Baekhyun, the servant his age, small and fragile and good for nothing but sex. But sometimes in the dark his skin was speckled with light, glittering across his shoulders, cheeks and knuckles. Kyungsoo said nothing of it-- the gifts of his companions were known to his King and yet this one, he wanted to keep for himself.

He moved to the bed to lie down beside Baekhyun, tucked up behind him in the emberlight. But Baekhyun's usually warm, soft body was limp and cold, and Kyungsoo jerked away in alarm. “Baekhyun?” he asked, so rarely calling his slave by name. Usually it got a passionate response, but... Nothing. Kyungsoo swallowed hard and reached out with one shaking hand to pull his slave onto his back, instead of his side.

The right side of his face was cracked open like an egg, and spilling out came blood like light, bits of brain and teeth. Kyungsoo could do little other than stare, his heart stopping in his chest. “Baekhyun?” He could hear his own voice, but it was wrong: the voice of a child standing over a dead mother, a dead brother, dirty face streaked with tears as little hands shook cold shoulders.

“Baekhyun. Baekhyun?”

_Kyungsoo,_ he'd said once, in summer sunlight while Kyungsoo feigned sleep. _Kyungsoo, I love you._

“Baekhyun,” Kyungsoo was surprised to find tears on his face. He should not have felt anything but disgust for the mess in his bed, for the vile view of Baekhyun's smile torn in half, his unruined eye half-open, cloudy and unseeing.

_I love you._

“no?” he whispered, touching the blood, watched it streak down his fingers like rain.

~

“That was cruel of you.”

“It was necessary.”

“What are you going to do now?”

“Reason with him.”

~

 


	10. (ten)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter contains graphic depictions of violence.

 Baekhyun jerked awake, wide-eyed and heart pounding rabbit-fast. “Kyungsoo?” he called, jerking out of the hammock. “Kyungsoo?!” His bare feet took him to the bed, but his master was not there, and he threw open the doors to the hall, calling for Kyungsoo in frantic hysterics until Jongdae emerged from his rooms, grabbing him by the shoulders.

“Baekhyun! He's not here! He's off with the raiders, remember?”

“No,” Baekhyun shook his head, clutched Jongdae's night shirt tight in terror. “No, no something's wrong, something's wrong please, please I need to go--”

“You can't go anywhere,” Jongdae said, trying not to be angry—or frightened. His own dreams had been dark for the last few days. The aching fear hung like a shroud and it frightened him further to know that Baekhyun was feeling the same effects.

“Jongdae,” Baekhyun was nearly sobbing, trying to shake him, to make him see sense. “Jongdae please, please, I need to go to him please, he needs me, he's in the dark, he _needs me_ \--”

Baekhyun was wrenched from Jongdae's grip and backhanded. He fell into the wall with a yelp, crumpling to the floor like a child. Jongdae jerked around to see Taemin, snarling and sleepless. “Shut that whore up,” he hissed. “Or I will shut him up permanently. He doesn't need his voice to bend over for the general's cock.”

Jongdae heard Hakyeon behind him. Heard Minseok's door opening down the hall and he felt his eyes crackle. He bared his teeth. “If you lay a hand on him, I will burn you to ash.”

“No you won't,” Taemin grinned, fisting one hand in Jongdae's sleep shirt. “Not if you know what's good for you.” Jongdae took a breath, felt old cruelty lance through him and reached out one hand to fist it.

Jongin screamed before the sound was cut off by his seizing, the electricity running through him as though on a loop, over and over and over. Taemin yanked on Jongdae and was met with the second hand, planted against his belly. It took all of Jongdae's self-control to keep from killing him.

Taemin fell to the floor in a twitching heap, and Jongdae took slow, hard breaths in. “Get him into a prison cell,” he told Minseok, kneeling beside Baekhyun. “Freeze him there.”

“And Jongin?”

“Just keep him close to you. Don't let him snap away. We'll deal with him later.”

~

Taemin found Jongin hiding under a bed in a whorehouse.

With his knife, Jongin cut purses while men fucked women or boys on cheap, squeaking beds. He could snap from room to room in silence. Not even the Matron knew how he did it, but he made her good money, so she let him alone. He knew the sounds of the brothel better than anything else, knew the sound of people using other people. So when Taemin, Inquisitor under the Butcher slid a hand into his pants and cupped his groin, made promises of freedom and a use for his talent, Jongin pressed the knife to his throat and demanded to know what was to be exchanged.

“Your life,” he'd said, and Jongin had considered the offer, then accepted.

Taemin fucked anything that walked, when he was left to his own devices and Jongin was left to mostly fend for himself but it was worth it, to be free from crawling under beds, free from the constant sound of false moaning and the slick squish of flesh pressed together. Taemin only came to Jongin when he wanted him, allowed him to take part in his torture sessions because it got him off to watch someone hurting someone else. Jongin knew that.

But the slave lay there in wretched tears, with Taemin buried inside him and Jongin felt his gut pull tight. _They always have to enjoy it, by the end,_ Taemin had told him, once. But... But it was clear the man on the table was not enjoying it. Not even a little.

“Yes, take it,” Taemin was saying, and Jongin jerked back to attention. “Give me my knife. Jongin.” After an instant of hesitation, Jongin rummaged on the shelves and offered him the knife they used when they wanted the cut to hurt the least. It was clean, sharp and gleaming. It left clean, deep scars. The thought of it being used on this crying man made Jongin's stomach turn.

“I don't know why you're resisting me,” Taemin purred, biting down the man's chest and dragging the knife over his belly. “You took me so willingly, just yesterday.”

Jongin watched the man tense, watched the muscles of his chest and belly strain while Taemin grabbed him ruthlessly between the legs, putting pressure on the fresh wound there. Yixing had healed it neatly, but surely the stitches still itched, ached. Jongin couldn't move, horrified, as Taemin pushed on the wound, dragged the blade across the skin like he was making the butchering lines on a dead pig. The man screamed out and sobbed, thrashing weakly underneath Taemin's weight.

“Stop,” the man wept, shaking. Jongin wanted to throw up. “Please, please just kill me, please, _please._ ”

“Oh no,” Taemin grinned and pushed the knife into Jongin's hand. He leaned over the bloody chest and whispered into the prisoner's ear, fucking him to half-unconsciousness, groaning with self-satisfaction as he came.

“No, pet,” he said, and Jongin stared at him as though he'd never seen him before. Taemin could be cruel-- but this was. This was--

Taemin climbed down from the stone and waved for a wet rag, which Jongin gave him. Jongin watched him wipe the cum from his belly, the mess from between the prisoner's legs, like he had only a day before-- blood and cum and he dropped it onto the man's face, smirking as he left.

Jongin managed to wait until Taemin was out of the hallway before he grabbed the rag and threw it.

“Yixing!” he almost screamed, cupping the man's head, wiping his skin clean with wet fingers. “Shh, shh, it's all right, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry--” Jongin was crying. The man beneath him wouldn't-- or couldn't-- open his eyes. Jongin could feel that Yixing was in the room, felt him spread the man's legs and work the wound closed. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” he whispered, frantic as he took a rag and washed the sweat from Hakyeon's-- his name was Hakyeon-- brow. Jongin knew he was not worthy of washing the man's feet, but he did his best to help Yixing get him clean, moved him to another cell while cradling him like a child. The man had skin like his, and his dark eyes couldn't focus but he smiled at Jongin, just barely, as he was laid down.

“I'm sorry,” Jongin said, sounding wretched. The man blinked up at him, breathing ragged and too shallow.

“me too,” he whispered, slipping down into unconsciousness.

Jongin snapped himself away. Away from the compound, away from Taemin, and away from the squirming feeling in his gut telling him he'd been witness to, done nothing about, something he could never, not in a thousand lifetimes, hope to make up for.

~

“What's wrong,” Jongdae asked, looking at Hakyeon, staring out over the garden.

“There's a boy there,” Hakyeon replied. Jongdae looked over his shoulder and nodded.

“Yes, that's Jongin.”

“He was there. With Taemin.” Jongdae stiffened, but Hakyeon just tilted his head. “He cried.”

“He what?” he squawked. Jongin was notoriously cool in temperament. One had to be, to deal with Taemin as often as he did.

“He cried,” Hakyeon said again. “When Taemin left. He cried. And cleaned me.”

“He probably felt guilty.”

“Maybe.” Hakyeon continued watching Jongin, who was stalking ruts into the garden paths, tearing at his hair, occasionally snapping from one location to the other, as though trying to avoid certain parts of the garden.

“Maybe.”

~

To see Taemin grab Baekhyun-- Baekhyun, smaller than both of them, light and delicate-boned, the General's consort and a genuinely sweet man, was horrifying. More frightening than the shock Jongdae gave him, running up and down his body. It was less frightening to be brought to his knees than it was to watch Taemin hurt someone: unprovoked, without reason. And the memory of Hakyeon sobbing was still fresh, as though it had been the day before.

Minseok was carrying Jongin, when he came back to himself. His gut was sitting on the top of Minseok's shoulder, and he groaned.

“You alive?” Minseok asked, voice gruff.

“Yeah,” he croaked, swallowing hard as Minseok put him down on his feet. “What happened?”

“Taemin's downstairs.” Minseok eyed Jongin critically. “Are you gonna try and hurt people, too?”

“What? No,” Jongin shook his head, embarrassed and afraid. Why had he ever hurt anyone at all? Was that what the intention had been, when he'd left with Taemin? He'd never meant to <i>become</i> him. He hoped that his regret-- his desperate sorrow in hurting Hakyeon-- meant that he wouldn't become like Taemin, no doubt encased in a cell of ice downstairs. Maybe the same cell Hakyeon had bled in. “No,” he whispered, pursing his lips. “Is. Is Baekhyun okay?”

“Yeah. He's shook up, but. He'll be all right.” Minseok paused. Jongin looked small, confused and helpless. “We're all in Jongdae's room, for now. Do you want to come?”

“Wh...” Jongin pursed his lips harder, bit into his cheeks. “Yes. Yes, please, I...” _I don't want to be where Taemin is, right now._ Minseok didn't prod him for any more information, simply led him to Jongdae's quarters. Waiting for them was Jongdae himself, Baekhyun, and a dusty-skinned slave whose name Jongin did not feel he was worthy of speaking.

He found a small, cramped place under a desk and stayed there.

~

Taekwoon stood in front of Kyungsoo. The smaller man had just heaved awake, drawing his knife and panting, eyes too wide, teeth bared.

“Good evening,” he said serenely, not flinching when the Butcher turned those wild eyes on him. “Sleep well?”

“Don't antagonize him,” his companion insisted, a proud rack of antlers heavy on his head. “We're here to reason with him, remember?”

“Who are you,” Kyungsoo snarled, jerking up from the bed to angle the knife for a quick stab, if necessary. The man in front of him smiled a little.

“I'm Taekwoon.”

“Mage.”

Kyungsoo lunged, and Taekwoon easily dodged; flickered out then in to existence and sighed.

“Would you stop. I need to speak with you.”

“What could you possibly have to speak to me about,” he hissed, the knife still clutched in one hand.

“The truth of what you're doing.”

Kyungsoo's eyes narrowed. “I am doing the Kings work, Mage.”

“And is your King's work truly good work?”

“I work to unite the tribes as one nation.”

“You murder the people and ruin the earth. The swaths you cut make way for your King to follow with his poison and his killers, and your death will come at his hands.”

“What?” Kyungsoo couldn't believe what he was hearing. Even if it was true, how would the Mage know?

“Look for yourself,” Taekwoon said, twisting his hands to create a mirror, a window. Through it, Kyungsoo saw the past, the future and present. It moved through him like water, flooding, washing away dams made of denial and lies.

“No,” he hissed, shaking his head. “No. This is not real. This is trickery. You are a liar!”

“Am I?” Taekwoon asked. “Look. Remember. See.”

~


	11. (eleven)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter contains graphic sex.

 “There are nine of them,” the King said, motioning to a chart. “Nine. I need you to bring them to me. Their gifts will be of great help to our cause.”

“Will they come willingly?”

“Most,” the King replied. “Some, you will have to force. But most important is to keep their loyalty. They _must_ be loyal to you, Kyungsoo. They must trust you.”

“Very well.” Kyungsoo could see the wisdom in this. Allies were of no help if they were not capable of trusting, being trusted.

~

“Seven,” the King hissed, “Only seven! It's been two years! I do not have much time left.”

“The ceremony will work with eight. Sacrifice the General if you must. He surely has some gift, since he's brought them all together like this.”

The King leaned over his table and nodded. “Surely. I hadn't thought of that. Send someone with him to keep an eye on him. Someone inconspicuous, like shadow.”

“I've just the man.”

~

“You have only found seven.”

“The search continues, my lord.” Kyungsoo did not understand the rush. He'd found Jongdae. Joonmyeon, Minseok and Chanyeol, Yixing. The men he considered his best and closest, aside from Zitao, and his lover Sehoon, another of the gifted. Jongin, who had come with Taemin, who Kyungsoo did not trust.

“Perhaps a wider search is necessary,” the man said, waving his hand across the map. “But the Mage comes first. I want him. Bring him to me. Alive.”

“That will be a challenge.”

“I have faith in your abilities, General.”

~

Taemin's dark eyes watched Kyungsoo, watched Baekhyun. His knife was sharp, his grin was wicked, and he cut his mark into the flesh of a dead townsperson, to prove that he'd been there, inspected all of them, and killed most. Jongin was already with Kyungsoo, guileless and easily molded; and he'd break the rest of them, soon enough.

His King's plan was proceeding just as it should.

~

“No,” Kyungsoo breathed, shaking his head. “No.”

“Yes,” Taekwoon replied. “You know this is truth. You know in your heart there is no other truth. And you know who is at stake. You left the snake in the nursery.”

“...He knows about Baekhyun,” he said. Taekwoon nodded.

“Yes, your little star. He knows not of Zitao, which is all that has saved you.”

“Zitao,” Kyungsoo said, his eyes darting. “Zitao, what does he have to do with this?”

“He is one of them. The Ten your King searches for.”

“Nine,” he replied.

“Ten. The entire company of men you've brought around yourself are pawns in a play that ends in your death. And there are ten of you. And if your King has his way, you will be slaughtered to make way for his complete domination.”

“What do you have to do with this?”

“He would use my power to kill you. All of you. I've no desire to do such a thing.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Kyungsoo asked, and Taekwoon offered his arms, forearm up. It was a motion of friendship, of trust.

“Because I am your ally. I would not see you murdered to further the cause of a man who has destroyed so many.”

“But what of the tribes,” Kyungsoo asked-- thinking of the Forestens, of Hongbin-the-Painted, of the towns and cities he'd conquered and promised to let live, if they offered their loyalty. How many of them had been killed, throats slit in the night by men under Taemin's order?

“They call you the Butcher for a reason.”

Kyungsoo's blood began to boil. The earth under his feet began to rumble and his hands gripped the insides of Taekwoon's elbows, and Taekwoon's grabbed his. An ancient symbol of alliance, of a united front. The man who stood with the mage, with the antlers of a horned king, smirked with pleasure as smoke tickled through Kyungsoo's teeth.

“I will show him a Butcher.”

~

“And why do I need inquisitors,” Kyungsoo asked, scowling at the man across from him. He had an ill way about him, something... Off. The boy behind him, gold-skinned and soft-mouthed, was open as a book: easy to read and sincere as he smiled.

“In the event that there are those who will not give up information without a fight.”

“I have Jongdae,” Kyungsoo said.

“Taemin employs different methods you may find effective,” the King smiled, and Taemin smiled, and Kyungsoo's skin crawled. “You will take him with you. And Jongin, of course.”

“...Very well,” he said, displeased.

He was further displeased upon learning exactly how Taemin extracted information, though he could not stop him. Any threat he made was immediately brushed aside by virtue of the fact that Taemin worked under the King's direct order, not under Kyungsoo's own. At least Jongin seemed to be loyal to him, telling him quietly of what Taemin did, telling him the state of the prisoners when he was done with him.

Jongin would easily turn to his side, he was sure: the boy seemed as reluctant to see people in true pain as Taemin seemed-- was-- willing to cause it.

~

“Up! Up, rise, all of you, now!” Kyungsoo's voice was nearly a roar. Yixing gasped awake, clutching his chest and staggering out of his tent to find Joonmyeon and Chanyeol in much the same condition as himself, trembling and terrified. “Gather your horses, leave anything unnecessary, we leave immediately!”

“To where,” Joonmyeon found the breath to ask, and he jerked back at the sight of volcano-cracks in skin and Kyungsoo's molten eyes. The heat radiating from him was hotter even than Chanyeol, and the ground splintered under his feet. Kyungsoo looked like a god, and at his left and right stood a blue-robed man with sly fox eyes, and a man in furs, a rack of antlers proud on his head.

“Home.”

~

Jongin crept out from under the desk. He felt... On edge. Nervous, moreso than he had the day before. The others were in various phases of sleep-- the only one awake was Jongdae, carding his hands through Hakyeon's dark hair and humming under his breath.

“Jongin,” he said, his voice soft. “How are you.”

“I feel...” he swallowed. “I feel like I'm waiting. It's like I'm waiting for my hands to be cut off.”

“Yes,” Jongdae nodded. “It's been lingering all night. Something is wrong. Baekhyun was right.”

“I am afraid.”

Jongin moved as close as he dared. He was not close with any of them, and he wasn't sure he wanted to be too close to Hakyeon, asleep across Jongdae's lap. “Have Sehoon and Zitao come?”

“No,” he shook his head. “I've not seen them in hours.”

“I'm going to check on them.”

“Alone?”

“Yes.”

“Wait until Minseok is awake,” Jongdae said, pursing his lips and starting to close his eyes. “Just wait. Wait.”

“But--”

“Wait.”

Jongin swallowed and nodded, shifting to lay down, tucking his head on his arms. He was nervous. Irritated. There was an itch under his skin and he wasn't sure why.

~

Zitao had been practicing his control for months. Years. It took great effort to keep the rooms contained. It was easier now, that Jongin was with them. Only two rooms to hold on to. Time passed more slowly, but kept passing. He just had to keep it still until Kyungsoo came back. He just had to hold out for that long.

Sehoon kept quiet watch while Zitao laid down, fingers clenched as though holding tight to threads. Zitao hated to lie to him. But it was necessary. For now. He had to keep the room still: to save Baekhyun from Taemin, to keep the savage from ruining them all.

~

“He's taking you away?”

“Yes,” Zitao held Sehoon's hand and bit his own lip. “He is. I will ask, to bring you with me. He seems... Not so unkind as...”

Sehoon nodded. “Tell-- tell him my gift is his, if he allows me to follow you.”

“Sehoon--”

“I will not stay here without you. I will follow you one way or another and that is the fact of it. I will not stay here.”

Zitao laugh-sighed and rested his head on Sehoon's shoulder. The man on his lap cooed and rubbed his back. “You are very foolish,” he accused.

“Perhaps,” Sehoon said, leaning back to look at Zitao. “But no more than you, thinking that you can leave me.”

“I wouldn't dream of leaving you.”

“And yet here you are, being taken away by a General.” Zitao frowned and Sehoon laughed, pushing him down to the bed they'd been sharing since they were boys of fourteen.

“I wouldn't--”

“I know,” Sehoon said, kissing Zitao's lips, his nose and brow, fingers in his hair to pull him this way and that, to pull back his head to expose his neck to Sehoon's teeth. “I know. Still. Let me remind you who loves you best.” Zitao laughed, it turned into a sigh as Sehoon laid on top of him, kissed his neck, his lips and shoulders.

“Sehoon, ah-- ah.” Zitao wiggled up onto the bed and looked up at his lover, who smiled and sat up, yanking the robes he wore open to expose his chest. Zitao shuddered, and Sehoon bent, lapped at one bare nipple. A breeze blew over wet skin, and Zitao moaned.

“Not fair,” he breathed. “Using it like that.”

“But you like it,” Sehoon purred, shifting to pull Zitao's legs up. The older man groaned, bent his arms up to clutch at the cloth near his shoulders. “I know you do. You've told me.”

“Sehoon,” Zitao hissed, biting his lip.

“What,” he asked, pushing the cloth apart to expose Zitao's legs and groin. Underclothes were torturous in the summer, itchy and heavy beneath already too heavy robes. A breeze tickled up his thighs and Zitao whimpered, legs twitching apart. “You're so beautiful,” Sehoon murmured, kissing the insides of his thighs as he got comfortable between his legs, thumbing apart his cheeks and licking at his ballsac. Zitao made a distressed noise, pulling at the blankets. “Beautiful here, too.”

“Sh-ut up,” he groaned, trying to cock his hips up.

“Hold your legs,” Sehoon said, curving Zitao's back to be able to reach with his tongue, licking the tight clench of skin and muscle, enjoying the way his older lover tried to ride his tongue, his hands clutching under his knees. “Mmm, so good.”

“Sehoon,” Zitao whispered, jerking his hips and reaching with one hand to tug at Sehoon's dark hair. “Please, don't--”

“On your belly,” Sehoon murmured, letting him down, watching as he twisted, the silk he wore bunched up around his waist. “Get this off,” he ripped away the cloth to bare Zitao's strange tattoos, his broad back. The air rushing over the skin made Zitao groan, get up onto his knees. “Give me the oil.” Sehoon enjoyed this-- watching Zitao, who was usually so straight-laced and serious, fall apart at a little wind, the wiggling of his tongue.

He buried two fingers into him without pause, let the wind whip around their room, across the sweat in Zitao's hair and on his skin until he was panting, moaning into his robe, saliva from his mouth making a wet spot. He was pushing back onto Sehoon's fingers, eagerly.

“Mine,” Sehoon said, rubbing himself slick and pressing inside, groaning and bending over Zitao's body to wrap his arms around his shoulders, pushing into him with quick, shallow jerks.

“Ah-- ah, Seh-- ah--”

“So you already have a lover.”

Sehoon stopped and Zitao trembled, looked in the direction of the voice and moaned in embarrassment, hiding his face in his robes. Kyungsoo smirked, leaning against the dresser.

“Don't stop on my account,” he said, waving one hand. “By all means. Continue.”

Sehoon sat up, scowling and Kyungsoo smiled. “If you expect to come with him,” he said. “You'd best continue.” It was a challenge and Sehoon knew it, so he pulled back and pushed forward, enjoying Zitao's surprised, embarrassed mewl, the way his legs kicked out for a deeper thrust.

“Do you mind if I use his mouth?” Kyungsoo asked, stepping closer. Sehoon snarled. “Oh stop,” he said, reaching to tug on Zitao's hair, guiding him up with a fist that looked more brutal than it felt. “It's my right. You're lucky I don't drag you from his body and take your place. His mouth will do.” Kyungsoo's hand cupped under Zitao's jaw and guided him to his robes. “Open them. Suck.”

Zitao shivered, and Sehoon smoothed a hand over his back in reassurance. Zitao's shaking hands opened Kyungsoo's robes, unsurprised to find him nude and hard. It wasn't uncommon for a man of high military standing to fuck his underlings, he knew this-- he knew this might happen. And Sehoon's breath on his back was gentle as he wrapped one hand around and started to suck, noiseless and wet. Sehoon's thrusts didn't let up, and Kyungsoo inched deeper into his mouth until he was down his throat.

“You're well-trained,” he hummed, leaving his cock deep and tickling his fingers over Zitao's body while Sehoon fucked into him. “Moan,” he purred. “Make me cum and I'll let your lover join you.”

Zitao trembled, looked up at Kyungsoo and whimpered. He groaned loud in his throat when Sehoon worked to make him noisy, palming his balls, pushing one cheek up and out of his way.

“Mm-- mmm, mm--”

“Yes,” Kyungsoo murmured. “Yes, that's good, keep doing that.”

Sehoon worked to please his lover-- to please Kyungsoo. And when Zitao came he tried to shout, choking, throat spasming around Kyungsoo's cock and the load spilling down his esophagus.

Kyungsoo pulled out and smiled as Zitao coughed up little bubbles of cum and spit. Sehoon bent over Zitao's body and kissed the back of his neck as he came, hugging his waist.

“Sweet,” Kyungsoo hummed, reaching out to ruffle Sehoon's hair in an... Almost brotherly way. “Very well. You can come, also. I'll bargain for you. I wouldn't want to see you ripped apart.”

Kyungsoo knew better than to tear apart a pair so clearly attached to one another. One would wither without the other, like flowers tangled in the same roots. Yixing and Yifan had been the same. One would die without the other. He needed them alive.

He needed Sehoon alive. Zitao was just a bonus.

~

Kyungsoo yanked at the reigns on his horse, climbing up into the saddle and hardly waiting for the others before he urged the mare on. Through his mind flashed the moments: the Wind, the Move, the Fire, Water, Snow. The Healer, the Storm. The Light. His light. The Earth.

He could see, from what Taekwoon knew, that their deaths would be painful and prolonged. If one sacrificed ten sources of true magic, they would earn control over that magic, themselves. Taekwoon's voice in his ear spoke of the ceremony, failed in years past: because the sacrifices were too delicate, because the murderer didn't have enough of them.

In Taekwoon's voice, Kyungsoo heard the promise of Baekhyun's death, should they arrive too late.

~


	12. (twelve)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter contains graphic non-consensual sex/rape and graphic depictions of violence.

 Taemin snarled, fought against the ice. He'd been down there for nearly two weeks: surely, someone would have come to bring him food by now, instead of leaving him to suck up water from the ice. His shouting for Jongin did nothing.

And his rage grew tenfold as the ice finally started to melt enough that he could get loose, beat at it to get himself free.

He was going to kill them. Damn the King's wishes, he was going to slaughter every one of them and paint the walls in their blood.

And he was going to start with that pretty little candle. He would take delight in killing him, in particular. They had yet to see what he was truly capable of.

~

“I think we should go get them,” Jongdae agreed. “So lets go. Minseok, you and I. You three stay here. I won't hear arguments!” Baekhyun snapped his mouth closed, and Jongin scowled darkly. “You will be safer here. Please. We'll be back shortly. We'll stop at the kitchens, and bring back something to eat. All right?”

“...All right,” Baekhyun deflated, nodding. He was tired, dark-eyed. He'd slept poorly, the image of Kyungsoo in distress dominating his imagination.

Jongin looked uncomfortable, but nodded, and Hakyeon did the same, letting one arm drape around Baekhyun in reassurance. “Hush now,” he said, as Jongdae and Minseok unlocked the doors.

“Come and lock these. Jongin. Don't let anyone in aside from us.”

“Yes.” He nodded, and moved to close the doors as the two older men stepped through them. He gasped when Jongdae grabbed him by the shirt.

“And don't lay a hand on Hakyeon, do you understand?”

“Yes,” he nodded frantically. Jongdae let go, and he and Minseok slipped out into the dark of the hallway.

Jongin locked the door behind them.

~

They'd been gone for almost three hours.

Baekhyun paced back and forth, chewing at his lip while Hakyeon watched him from where he sat, carefully perched. “...Baekhyun,” he said. “Perhaps you should draw a bath.”

“Why,” he asked, chewing at his nails.

“It might soothe your nerves a bit.”

“They've been gone for three hours! Where _are_ they, what if something happened--”

“Come on,” Hakyeon stood, very slowly. “Come with me. Jongin.”

Jongin appeared from under the desk, sleepy-eyed and blushed. “huh?”

“Come on, I'm going to run a bath.”

“I don't need a--” he stopped. Hakyeon was looking at him, really looking, with patient eyes and a delicately cocked eyebrow. “...fine,” he whispered, getting up to follow. His mind was still a mess of memory and the last thing he wanted to do was think too hard about what he and Taemin had done to Hakyeon, not two weeks before.

He knew that Hakyeon was a manservant, but he was still curiously attentive as he reached to turn on the water. The running water smelled like nature, was not quite clear but there were lumps of soap and the water was warm, so he motioned to it. “Go on then,” he said, nodding to Baekhyun, who took his clothes off without any more prodding. “Jongin.”

“...You should bathe,” Jongin said, standing back near the door to the bathing room. “I don't-- I don't need to.”

“It's not about whether you need to,” he replied, carefully easing off his own robe. Jongin was captivated by the bare expanse of his skin. He'd put on weight, though not much. His cut was still healed, the little swell of his single testicle small between his legs. Baekhyun, too, was half-cut, and the two of them climbed into the large stone tub in the warm water. The tub itself was warm with the fires from forges, on a hill carved in underneath the compound.

“Jongin. Come.”

“Jonginah~” Baekhyun chirped, waved him over. He had no idea what had happened between the two older men. No one had seen fit to tell him. “Come on, come have a bath.”

Jongin hesitated, but walked to the tub, cheeks blushed red as he motioned for Hakyeon to sit on the edge of the stone. The older man did as he was asked, shameless in his nudity and that made Jongin feel more ashamed. He wanted to melt into the floor, he wanted to disappear.

But instead he took up a rag and a lump of soap, rubbing them together until the scent of tea roses was floating up into the air. One tan hand took one tan ankle and, in a motion befitting a slave, Jongin washed Hakyeon's feet. His motions were reverent, his eyes downcast as he soaped the skin, rubbed out the aches and massaged away any tension in his ankles and calves. Baekhyun had the sense to watch quietly as Jongin moved from one foot to the other, kissing the tops of them when they were both clean, unwilling to raise his head.

He'd done so much wrong. And this man still allowed him to be in the same room, asked him to bathe, permitted him to touch him. Forgiveness he did not deserve, could not fathom being permitted. He nearly threw himself off the side of the tub when one hand smoothed down his hair.

“Come bathe,” Hakyeon said. Jongin stayed hunched for a moment, then sat up, pulling off his clothes. Unlike Baekyun, whose skin was smooth save for a few clean, well-placed scars, his own body was marred from years of poverty, thieving and desperate survival. He felt a bit self-conscious: usually it was only Taemin looking at him in such...

“Jongin!” Baekhyun said, splashing a bit. “Get _in_ here, you're going to catch a cold.”

“And what would that matter to you, hm?” Jongin was grateful for the freedom from his thoughts as he got down into the water and sighed, a safe distance from the other two men. Baekhyun grinned at him, and Hakyeon...

Hakyeon smiled gently, and Jongin wondered what it might be like to know him, just a little better.

~

Jongdae jumped at the sound of a rat scurrying past his foot. “Everything here is spoiled too,” he hissed, turning to look at Minseok. “What is going on? It's been a day! Two, at most!”

“Lets just go get Sehun and Zitao,” Minseok said, brow furrowed. “Something's wrong. I want us all together.”

“Yes,” Jongdae agreed. He dropped the rotten apple and followed behind Minseok as he stalked to Zitao's quarters.

“Zitao,” he hissed, pushing at the door. “Zitao, let me in, it's Minseok.”

The door fell open, and Minseok jumped at the sight of Sehun standing not three feet from him, one hand reaching out for the door. But he was not moving. His eyes were closed, and his mouth was closed and he was not moving. Zitao, on the bed, looked haggard, eyes bruised and lips pale. His cheeks were sharp.

“What on earth,” Jongdae whispered, and Zitao groaned. Sehun opened his eyes and jumped, shrieking in surprise as he jumped back.

“When did you get there?!” he asked, one hand on his heart.

“...What's going on,” Minseok asked, eyes narrow. “Why is he in bed, what's wrong.”

“Nothing's wrong, he's just been feeling--”

Sehun turned around and got a good look at his lover, eyes wide. “...Zitao,” his voice was pressured, breathless. “Zitao, gods, what's wrong, Zitao?” He'd only turned to the door for a second! He'd only moved to check for some water outside the door--

“We need to go,” Zitao rasped. “We need-- Baekhyun, where's Baekhyun--”

“Still in Jongdae's rooms,” Minseok said, as Sehun helped Zitao up from the bed. “Why?”

“We need to go there, now,” he said, head heavy. “Now, _now._ ”

They nearly had to drag his body down to the opposite wing: but Jongdae took off running at the sound of Baekhyun's terrified, cut-off cry.

~

In one hand, Taemin held the invisible threads choking the nude and trembling Hakyeon and Jongin into silence.

In the other, oh, in the other he held Baekhyun's soft, slim throat. He squeezed hard enough to make him choke, his little fingers clawing at Taemin's strong hand. He kicked his little legs, and it wiggled his little hips. So darling, the way he fought.

“Why don't you two make yourselves comfortable,” he snarled, jerking his arm to slam the two bodies against the wall, dragging them up, doing it again, until Hakyeon was nearly unconscious and Jongin was bleeding from his split lips. “Get on the bed. Don't move or I'll kill you.”

Jongin was not foolish enough to believe it was a lie. He tried to snap--

Only to find himself in a tangle of thread, tight around his wrists, throat and torso.

“I told you to get on the bed.”

He was thrown onto it. And Hakyeon, wrapped in those same threads, was dropped beside him, coughing and whimpering.

“Pathetic,” he hissed, glaring through his filthy hair. “All of you. And you.” he turned to Baekhyun, red-faced and weakening, his hands now just holding Taemin's wrist. “You, whore. You're the last one. And you will come willingly, do you understand me?” he grinned, dragging Baekhyun to him while his other hand kept the threads over the two on the bed pulled tight. “He wants you alive. He said nothing about leaving you unspoiled.”

With a flourish of his free hand, he made sure Hakyeon and Jongin wouldn't be going anywhere-- and wrapped the magic tight around the room. No one could get in, now. And Baekhyun, well.

Taemin lifted him up, and slammed him down on top of the desk. He tried to scream, but couldn't get air through his crushed windpipe. “Open your legs, whore. Or I'll kill them.”

“No--!” Jongin struggled wildly, watched in horror. Taemin had never done this. Not where he could see. They were friends. They were--

But clearly they were not. Taemin, his hand still on Baekhyun's throat, grinned when his captive opened his quivering thighs. He let go only to yank Baekhyun down the desk, holding his legs open painfully wide.

“He fucks you regular, doesn't he? I don't think you need aloe do you.”

“Please-- please don't--”

“Don't what. Use aloe?”

“Please,” Baekhyun whispered, shivering, trying to close his legs, trying to find the strength to wiggle away. He felt like he was tied to the desk with a thousand tiny wires, and his gaze shifted to Hakyeon and Jongin, afraid.

“Would you rather I use one of them, mm? Selfish slut.”

“No!” Baekhyun yelped, gasped when Taemin leaned very close to him, eyes black, all black, like a mage but wicked.

“Then. Should I use aloe, slut?”

Baekhyun trembled. To answer the question was to give permission. To not answer was to set Taemin on Hakyeon, still so terrified of him, or Jongin, betrayed. Neither option was a good one. But--

“...yes, please,” he whispered, and Taemin grinned.

“You're so disgusting.” His fingers were rough, tore Baekhyun's skin as he thrust them in and out, rather enjoying his pained whimpers, his little sobs. “Slut.” He pressed two fingers in deep and crooked them back, enjoyed how, like Hakyeon, Baekhyun gave a jerk that had nothing to do with pain or trying to get away. “Look at you. Whore. Open your legs. Open them!” He gave the inside of one thigh a hard slap and grinned when Baekhyun yelped, his eyes squeezing closed.

But the wailing sound he made when Taemin shoved into him, that was perfect. Cut off by Taemin's hand on his throat, it was everything Taemin wanted it to be. Pain and fear and underneath that just enough of a touch of pleasure to know that Baekhyun would ruin himself; Taemin would have to do very little work at all.

“Your precious master off chasing a ghost,” Taemin hissed, pushing in, _in_ until he was buried and Baekhyun was still, only shivering, holding the edges of the desk in his tiny little hands, his neck stretched, his eyes squeezed closed. “He practically left you here for me,” he said, giving a rock of his hips. “With a sign around your neck in invitation.”

“No,” Baekhyun shook his head, squeezed the sides of the desk. He would not believe that. He would not. Kyungsoo would _never._ Even in his moments of cruelty he was not so cruel as to let someone else put their hands on him. “No.”

“Oh yes,” Taemin murmured, giving slow, wet little thrusts that tugged at the rips in Baekhyun's skin. “Yes, pet. He did.” He bent to press kisses to Baekhyun's pale neck, smirking when Hakyeon attempted to recoil in revulsion. Of course, it was different to see the techniques used against him, used on someone else. Baekhyun looked so small and helpless, his thighs clamped on Taemin's hips in an attempt to stop or at least control his movements.

“Leave him alone--!” Jongin shouted, struggling violently against whatever invisible force was keeping him pinned to the bed. He could hear, outside, the sound of commotion. But it sounded far away, echoing. He pulled harder, stilled only when Baekhyun cried out, thrashing his head to one side.

“Don't make it any worse for him, Jongin,” Taemin grinned, baring all of his white, white teeth. They were so sharp, cutting into the skin of Baekhyun's shoulder. “Don't make me hurt him more than I want to.”

And Jongin, terrified into silence, listened to the pounding at the door, and the weak toll of his own heart.

~

“Kyungsoo!”

“Minseok, what is _going on-_ -”

“They're in there, he's in there, with Baekhyun--”

“Who is??”

“Taemin, he's a traitor--”

“Jongdae?”

“He's a traitor, I can't get it open, someone needs to--”

It was Chanyeol who stepped up to the doors, hair alight, eyes trailing flame. He put his hands on the door and let it burn under his fingers until he could kick them in, the crowd behind him stumbling about until the smoke cleared.

Taemin grinned, holding the shredded remains of Jongin's shoulder. One hand moved towards the door, where Kyungsoo was standing, roaring Baekhyun's name--

But then his little lover was there in front of him. Naked, sweaty and pale he smiled, boxy and happy. One hand cupped Kyungsoo's jaw in reverence.

“I love you,” he said. Whispered. Couldn't find the air to do much else with threads of magic piercing through his belly, chest and neck. Taemin snarled, yanked his power back and Baekhyun started to fall-- bleeding, he was bleeding so much, and his beautiful eyes were wide in fear and Kyungsoo felt the ground tremble, he felt the earth shake.

And after that, there was nothing.

Just the sound of ringing, a flash of bright, beautiful light.

~


	13. (thirteen)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there are no specific warnings for this chapter.

 The hard run back to the compound was agony. It took less time, but the horses were sweating and snorting, the men falling asleep in their saddles. Through some magick, the horses did not sleep, the men did not drink: they simply ran, galloped with hooves cleaving into the earth.

Kyungsoo did not speak.

He would not speak. In his mind, Baekhyun's blood spilled out of his cracked skull, his cool skin still under a warm hand. In his mind, Baekhyun was already dead and he was desperate to prove that vision untrue to his eyes.

Joonmyeon, riding front-saddle with Chanyeol, took great comfort in the warmth pressed against his back, and hoped that soon he might have cool skin against his front, pale lips to catch and warm, hair to wet that would freeze, instead of steam. He worried about Jongdae, about his servant, Hakyeon. He worried about all of them, but mostly Minseok.

Yixing would not speak. If he spoke, he would have questions and judging by how hard they were pushing the horses, how silent their guests, both Horned and not, they did not have time to be answered.

~

Jaehwan took Taekwoon into the forest when it became clear his life was in danger.

At the first tickle of whispers he brought Taekwoon into the trees. Taekwoon had protested, his best friend's happiness depended upon him, but Jaehwan, Horned, would hear none of it. He was of the earth itself and he would not allow a conduit for the earth's magick to be hunted down like a fox and slain. Especially not one he was so very fond of.

So Taekwoon had come. And against Jaehwan's better judgement he'd told Hakyeon where they were going, promised that he would come back. Chances were he wouldn't. But it seemed to comfort the dark hunter, cheek streaked with blue. “Please come back,” he'd said, his eyes red.

“I will,” Taekwoon said. Then he had taken Jaehwan's hand and gone into the trees and the forest closed behind them, leaving Hakyeon behind in the world of Men, where he belonged. Taekwoon had been beside himself ever since, worried for Hakyeon's safety and it turned out he was right to be so. Jaehwan had been beside Taekwoon, when he tried to See Hakyeon and couldn't find him. Their connection was an emotional one, there was no reason for it to be inaccessible save that Hakyeon was experiencing distress so profound it shook the core of his being.

It certainly had explained all the rain.

But the sky had been lightening, slowly. But two days from the compound it started to blacken. To roil and crack, and Jaehwan felt the earth shake beneath Kyungsoo's impatience, and wondered.

~

Jongdae had been trying to rip the door open for what felt like-- and had likely been-- hours. There had been no sound, after Baekhyun's scream of fear, and now the door would not open, would not budge for any of them, as though it were tied shut.

“What's going _on,_ ” he asked, as Zitao slipped down the wall. Jongdae attempted to keep his mind focused ,despite all of his frantic feelings. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to,” he said, his breathing shallow. “Trying to make time... Move faster.” His eyes were on the door and Sehun sat beside him, brow furrowed.

“What?” Jongdae asked, while Minseok tried again at the door.

“Inside the room, trying to-- make it go faster, less damage done, might save them.”

“Save them? From what?”

“Taemin.”

Minseok stopped.

“...Why.”

“Because he's here to kill us,” Zitao managed, his eyes starting to roll. “He's... He's here to--”

“Shh, shh, lover,” Sehun gripped his shoulder, let Zitao slump against him. He was trying to maintain his view on the door. “What are you talking about?”

Minseok pursed his lips. Of course. Of course. Taemin had only been brought into their company after their companionship had started to truly settle. Taemin skulked off in the middle of the night, Minseok had always assumed it was to find a body to fuck but what if that wasn't the case, and the King, what if--

“And he's in there with Kyungsoo's lover,” Jongdae said, starting anew at the door, his power shattering through it, though it did not move. “Damn! Damn where is Chanyeol when we need him--”

There was the sound of running.

As though summoned, Chanyeol's loping form came down the hallway, followed in short order by the rest of the raiding party including Kyungsoo, whose eyes went to his lieutenant before anyone else.

“Kyungsoo!” he shouted in surprise. He'd never been so grateful to see him.

“Minseok, what is _going on_ \--” Kyungsoo's skin was strangely grey, his eyes red around the edges, practically glowing.

“They're in there, he's in there, with Baekhyun--”

“Who is??”

“Taemin, he's a traitor--”

“Jongdae?”

“He's a traitor, I can't get it open, someone needs to--”

Chanyeol stepped forward, already burning. He pressed his hands to the door and it burned for him, as all burned for him. His gift, unlike Yixing's, or Zitao's, which had limits, was infinite. He could burn as long as he was alive.

It burned to charcoal and he kicked it in. Kyungsoo moved faster than he did, nearly running inside. Taemin stood in the center of the room. One hand was buried in the ruined, bloodied flesh of Jongin's shoulder. The boy-- and he was a boy-- was nearly unconscious, his eyes swollen with crying. Hakyeon was unconscious on the floor, crumpled in a pile of bones and skin and Baekhyun--

“Baekhyun--”

As though materializing at his name, the small man appeared before him. He was nude, bruised and white as a winter cloud as he reached to hold Kyungsoo's face and smile. He never smiled like that. Not outside the sanctity of their bedroom, not where anyone else could see. And he certainly didn't lean in so close, at eye level, to kiss the corner of Kyungsoo's mouth and--

“I love you.”

There was blood on his skin. Blood, gushing, spilling and it was red, it was not like Kyungsoo's dream because it was real, because Baekhyun was bleeding and his eyes were going dark no, no no no--

The stone started to crack. The earth itself started to move beneath them and Taemin stumbled, dropped Jongin and Kyungsoo stepped over Baekhyun's bleeding body, murder in his hands--

Baekhyun reached to stop him. Taemin was grinning, threads leashed and ready, burning as Kyungsoo stalked closer but Baekhyun could see them, he could see them winding up around his lover's legs and he coughed up fluid, his blood turned to light. It spit out of his mouth and his wounds, and as his shaking hand reached for his lover, everything shattered to ash.

Including Taemin and the threads he wielded.

~

Jongin couldn't remember what happened.

He woke up under Yixing's gentle hands and all he could ask for was Hakyeon, where was Hakyeon?

“He's well,” Yixing promised, smoothing back his greasy hair. “He's with Jongdae and Taekwoon, now.”

“Who?” he asked, brow furrowed, eyes unfocused.

“Sleep,” Yixing chided, his hand shaking, his brow furrowed. “Sleep. We're almost home.”

Home, Jongin wondered. Where was that?

~


End file.
